


The Seventh Circle Of Hell

by telperion_15



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Big Bang Challenge, Drama, Established Relationship, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:46:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on an off-world mission, John is punished by the conservative race of the Nimaani for his 'unnatural desires'. But it isn't until the team return to Atlantis that John and Rodney discover that the punishment has only just begun...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Seventh Circle Of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> [Art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/119144) by [Artmetica](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Artmetica/pseuds/Artmetica); [Art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/120150) by [crysothemis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crysothemis/pseuds/crysothemis)
> 
> Written for the Atlantis Big Bang on LiveJournal. Huge thanks to admiralandrea and fififolle (who went above and beyond the call of duty, considering she's not a McShep fan!) for doing wonderful beta jobs on this, and not being too harsh to a nervous writer jumping into a shiny new fandom with both feet!
> 
> Length: 53,368 words

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was sweet, and no one was trying to kill them.

John was suspicious.

He hated the reaction, but he couldn't help himself. When the ratio of good missions to bad was something like 1:100 (okay, so maybe he was exaggerating a _little_ bit, but not by much), it was second nature to assume that the ones that seemed to be going well were soon going to take a turn for the worse.

"How much further is it?"

Of course, even the good missions had their downsides. Like Rodney's moaning.

"We will be there soon," Teyla said patiently. "The Nimaani are more technologically advanced than most other races in the Pegasus Galaxy, and that makes them cautious. We will meet their representatives at a staging post exactly halfway between the gate and the city, where they will decide if they wish to trade with us."

"But how will they know we're coming?"

"They'll know," Ronon muttered. "They always know."

"Their technology allows them to – 'keep an eye on', I believe you phrase it – the gate from afar, so they can be ready to meet any travellers or traders."

"That must be some technology," said Rodney. "How have they not been culled?"

"As I said, the Nimaani are a cautious race," Teyla replied. "They do not often have dealings with outsiders, and they are able to keep their technology hidden, although it is not known how."

"Maybe they have a shield," John offered.

"It's possible, I suppose…" Rodney appeared to be considering the idea, looking around them as they walked, as if he expected a shield like Atlantis's to suddenly spring up out of the ground. "If it was sophisticated enough, it could be the reason why the Wraith don't detect any energy readings from this planet. Of course, it would have to shield its own energy output as well…" He turned to Teyla. "Do you know if there is one?"

"I do not," Teyla replied. "That is not information I have ever been privy to."

"But you've met them before, right?" John said, wanting confirmation even though he already knew the answer. "Despite their, uh, reticence?"

"The Athosians are one of the races privileged to trade with the Nimaani, yes," said Teyla. "But we have solemnly promised not to reveal their location or advancements to other outsiders."

"But you told us about them," Rodney pointed out.

Teyla looked momentarily uncomfortable. "And I thought long and hard about doing so," she replied. "But in the end I judged it the right choice. I believe that if Atlantis and the Nimaani can form some kind of alliance, it will only be of benefit to the peoples of the Pegasus Galaxy."

"What if the Nimaani don't see it like that, though?" John asked. "They might not be very happy to see us if they think they're well hidden."

"If they were unwilling to meet with us, we would know about it by now," said Teyla calmly. "We would not have made it as far from the gate as we have if they did not want us to be here."

"Oh, great." Rodney immediately started looking around again, nervously this time as if he expected hoards of angry natives to suddenly appear and start shooting at them.

"Relax, McKay," John instructed lightly. "Like Teyla said, if they didn't like the look of us, we'd have been goners long ago."

"Not making me feel better, Colonel," Rodney retorted.

"Only people the Nimaani are interested in are allowed to meet them at the rendezvous point," Teyla confirmed. "And it does not surprise me that they are interested in meeting the people of Atlantis."

"Here's hoping they're still as interested once they do actually _meet_ us," John said. "We need to make a good first impression, folks." He shot Rodney a look.

Rodney bristled. "Hey! I can make a good first impression. I'll have you know that a lot of people like me when they first meet me."

"Your cat doesn't count as a person, McKay," John teased, and then rolled his eyes when Rodney pulled a face at him. "Mature, Rodney, really mature. You'd better not try that one on the Nimaani. You'll frighten them half to death."

"There is something else, Colonel," Teyla said, interrupting their back-and-forth. "Being so cut off makes the Nimaani nervous about more than just being betrayed to the Wraith."

"Such as…?"

"Chiefly, disease. There are many forms of illness common to the Pegasus Galaxy that the Nimaani have never experienced, and therefore have no immunity to. They will wish to ascertain that none of us are carrying any of them before they let us enter their city."

"I'm sure we won't have any problems with that," John said. "I'm feeling pretty fit at the moment. Ronon, Rodney, any illnesses to report?"

"I never get sick," Ronon proclaimed smugly.

"Well, I did feel a bit of a sniffle coming on this morning…" Rodney started.

"McKay," Sheppard growled warningly.

"But I'm sure it's nothing," Rodney added. "Really."

"If any one of us exhibits any symptoms at all, we will be sent back to the gate immediately," Teyla said seriously. "There will be no negotiation."

"I'm fine, honestly," said Rodney. "Not a single germ on me."

"The Nimaani's isolation has also resulted in a very strict cultural regime," Teyla continued. "One that they do not admit any change to. We will have to be careful not to introduce anything they consider to be a taboo into their society."

"What kind of taboos?"

"It is hard to say," Teyla admitted. "They are not forthcoming about them, and trading contact can be limited to only certain members of their society. But they are a very conservative race, so I would recommend we are on our best behaviour, and that we don't express any radical views or unusual ideas."

"This whole thing is starting to sound like more trouble than it's worth," Rodney complained. "Conservative just sounds like another word for narrow-minded in this instance."

"_Technologically advanced_, McKay," said John pointedly. "They might be able to help us fight the Wraith."

"Okay, okay, fine."

"Maybe we should just gag him for the duration of the meeting," Ronon suggested, apparently in all seriousness.

"That won't be necessary, thank you," replied Rodney indignantly. "I'll be the politest person in the galaxy if it'll help us gain an ally against the Wraith."

Privately, John thought that chances of Rodney being _that_ polite were slim to non-existent, even if the Nimaani turned out to have technology that could blast all the Wraith into atoms and dust. He just hoped that the Nimaani would recognise that Rodney's abrasive nature wasn't a direct insult to them. He and the others were used to it – strangers weren't.

"Ah, we are nearly there," Teyla said, pointing ahead.

John followed the direction of her finger, and saw a small stone-built building with a large white tent next to it. The sides of the pavilion were rolled up to let the breeze blow through it, although the roof remained in place to shade the inhabitants from the sun.

"I recognise the man in front," Teyla said quietly. "He is Representative Seldan, and he is the foremost go-between between the Nimaani people and any visitors. It is he you will have to convince of your worthiness and intentions."

The man in question did look like some kind of official. He was wearing a severely cut robe that covered him from neck to ankle, with no kind of adornment to relieve its monotonous grey colouring. John figured the man must be pretty damn hot wearing that in this climate, and then realised that was probably why he was standing in the shade.

"And what about the others?" he enquired – there were four more people standing in a line behind Seldan, looking a little too much like bodyguards for John's liking, although they also were wearing robes, as opposed to any kind of armour.

"Guards," replied Teyla, confirming his suspicions. "Although the Nimaani have their ways of dealing with unwanted visitors before they ever get this close to the city, they are still…"

"Cautious. Yes, I know," John said. He looked around at his team. "We'd better make this first impression a _really_ good one."

After Teyla's explanations, John had been expecting to be greeted by a stern, suspicious, and unfriendly countenance. What he had _not_ expected was the broad smile that graced Seldan's face as he stepped forward to greet them.

"Welcome, welcome to Nimaan," he said enthusiastically. "It is good to finally meet the people from the city of the Ancients."

"It's, er, good to meet you too," responded John, caught slightly off guard. He shot a look at Teyla, who merely looked back at him as if to say, _I said they were cautious, not unfriendly_. "We always like to make new friends."

"And I am sure we will be the very best of friends," said Seldan, nodding enthusiastically. "Rumours of the bravery and kindness of the people of Atlantis have spread throughout the galaxy."

"How do you know about that?" said Rodney bluntly. Then he quailed slightly under the collective glares of Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon. "I, uh, I just meant that I understood that you like to keep yourselves to yourselves. Not that there's anything wrong with that," he finished lamely.

But Seldan merely continued to smile. "You are right, of course," he said. "We do, ah, 'keep ourselves to ourselves', as you put it. But that does not mean we don't have ways of gathering information and keeping abreast of events in the rest of the galaxy."

"Right, right, your technology," Rodney said eagerly. "I have to say, I'm very interested to…"

"I think introductions are in order first, don't you?" John interrupted, before Rodney said something to get them all killed. He turned to Seldan. "I'm Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, leader of this team. This is Teyla Emmagan, of the Athosians, and Ronon Dex of Sateda. And this is Dr. Rodney McKay, scientist. He means no offence, I assure you."

"Oh, none taken, I assure _you_," replied Seldan lightly. He addressed himself to Rodney. "A pleasure to meet you, Dr. McKay. I'm sure we shall have much to discuss. Teyla of the Athosians I have met before, of course. And Ronon Dex – we heard of the sad fate of Sateda. You have my condolences."

Ronon nodded and grunted something unintelligible that John hoped was "Thank you."

"Great, now we're all introduced, maybe we can get down to business," Rodney said, his enthusiasm irrepressible. John resisted the urge to smack him around the back of the head.

But Seldan held up a hand. "Not quite yet, I'm afraid, Doctor," he said. "First the Nimaani must assure themselves that you are not a danger to us." He drew a small device out of a hidden pocket in his robes – it looked not unlike a Lantean life-signs detector, and John could practically see Rodney's eyes light up.

"I have informed my friends of your customs," Teyla informed Seldan smoothly. "We are all more than willing to comply with them."

"Good, good." Seldan held up the device. "This will scan each of you in turn, and inform me if you are carrying any foreign illnesses. If you are, then I am sorry, but we cannot allow you to proceed any further."

"Perfectly understandable," said John easily. Then he frowned a little. "But if we were carrying any of these illnesses, wouldn't that put you at risk? Surely you wouldn't want to carry them back to your people yourself?"

"If that was the case, I would immediately put myself and my guards in quarantine," Seldan replied. He gestured to the stone building behind the pavilion. "Although it may appear rustic, that is a fully equipped medical facility. We would confine ourselves in there until the illness had passed, or it became apparent it was not going to."

_Became apparent it was not going to?_ "You mean until it kills you?" John asked in disbelief, and then wished he could bite his tongue off.

"Yes," said Seldan simply. "It is a price I would pay willingly to protect my people."

"Okay. Your dedication is very, er, impressive," John said. "I think you'll find that we're all in perfect health though, so hopefully it won't come to that."

"I certainly hope so too," Seldan said. "Now, let us begin."

He beckoned to Teyla, and John started to voice an objection. He was the team leader, he should go first.

But Teyla just smiled at him reassuringly. "I am in no danger, Colonel," she said. "I have submitted to these scans before, and I can assure you no harm will come to me."

"Teyla, I really think…"

A loud beep from the device cut him off. "Done," said Seldan. "And as you assured me, you are in perfect health, Teyla of Athos."

"I am pleased to hear it," Teyla replied graciously.

"Wow, that was fast," Rodney said. "Not even Beckett's scanners are that good."

"Perhaps you would care to go next, Doctor?" Seldan said.

"Oh, I…yes, of course."

John held his breath as Seldan scanned Rodney, but happily it turned out that Rodney had been exaggerating his sniffle after all, as he was pronounced perfectly healthy too. Ronon also passed the test, and then it was Sheppard's turn.

The device beeped quickly as Seldan swept it over his body, and he relaxed a little. "See, what did I tell you? No funky foreign diseases here."

Then he realised Seldan had stopped smiling.

"Oh dear. Oh dear me," the Nimaani was muttering. "This is not good. Not good at all."

"What's the matter?" John asked, his heart sinking. "I promise you, I'm perfectly fine. Are you sure your device hasn't malfunctioned?"

Seldan looked up sharply from his device, his expression now as stern and forbidding as John had been expecting when they first met. "I'm afraid the scanner has picked up something rather…disturbing, Colonel Sheppard," he said coldly. "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me to the city." He snapped his fingers suddenly, and two of the guards moved swiftly to flank John.

"Hey!" John heard Rodney protest. "What are you doing? I thought you said if any of us were sick, we would have to leave. Why are you taking him prisoner?"

"The colonel is not sick," Seldan replied. "But the scanner has indicated something else to me. Something that I cannot overlook."

"Something else? Like what? You can't just…"

"Be _quiet_, McKay," John said sharply. The other two guards had trained their weapons on Teyla, Ronon, and Rodney, while John himself could feel the barrel of some kind of gun tickling the hair just behind his ear. _Those robes really are good for hiding stuff._ "I'm sure it's a misunderstanding, that's all. I'll be happy to accompany Seldan to the city, and then I'm sure we can get this all sorted out."

"Sheppard…" Ronon's voice was low and menacing, and John just knew he was itching to pull out his gun and start blasting people.

"Ronon…" he shot back, his own voice equally hard. "At ease. Everything's going to be fine."

"You will come with me now, Colonel," Seldan repeated. "Your friends will be escorted to the city and treated with every courtesy. They will be our guests while we deal with this matter."

"Yeah, right," Rodney muttered, and if John hadn't felt the gun press a little harder against his skin, he would have turned and glared.

"But I warn you, Colonel," Seldan continued. "I do not think this 'misunderstanding' will be as easy to sort out as you hope."

And before John could make any further response, the Nimaani drew another device out of his robes and stepped forward, placing his hand on Sheppard's shoulder as he pressed a button.

The world dissolved around them.

*~*~*~*~*

Twelve steps were all it took to walk the length of the room. Twelve steps until he came face-to-face with the wall, and had to turn on his heel and march back the other way. Twelve steps to pass the cabinet with its incredibly fake-looking plant in a pot, and the group of three pictures above it on the wall (and really, was every galaxy in the universe cursed with those insipid, paint-by-numbers watercolours that had less artistic merit than a child's finger-painting?).

Twelve steps to pass the small table where Teyla and Ronon sat, the former calm but tense, the latter looking like he was plotting some kind of violence.

Twelve steps. That was it. And Rodney should know – he'd counted them _far_ more than twelve times.

"Will you sit down, McKay – you're making me dizzy," Ronon complained. He'd said the same thing at least five times already in the past two hours, so Rodney felt no compunction about ignoring him for the sixth time. He continued to pace.

"Maybe you should try and relax, Rodney," Teyla said, in more measured tones. "All this agitation is helping no one. Least of all Colonel Sheppard."

That did it. Rodney halted and stared at her incredulously. "Relax? _Relax?_" he snapped, aware that his voice was rising in pitch, but powerless to stop it. "And how exactly do you suggest I do that? We're being kept prisoner here, no one will tell us anything, and they won't let us see Sheppard. _Relaxing_ is the last thing on my mind right now."

"We are not prisoners, we are guests of the Nimaani," Teyla replied.

"So why is there a guard outside the door?" Ronon said, unexpectedly siding with Rodney. "And why did they take our weapons?"

"I…" Teyla sighed. "Very well," she admitted. "We are their prisoners." Then she frowned. "Although I do not understand why."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "None of us understand _why_," he pointed out. "And they don't seem that bothered about enlightening us, either."

"Maybe Sheppard's sick," Ronon said.

"But they said they'd kick us out if we were ill," Rodney countered. "Not kidnap us and whisk Sheppard away to god only knows where."

"Well, maybe something he said offended Seldan, then."

"No, I do not think that can be it," Teyla put in. "Seldan definitely saw something on his scanner – that is what started this. It must be something biological. Maybe not an illness, but some kind deformity or defect within the colonel's body that they perceived as a threat." She looked at Rodney. "Could it be something like that?"

"Why are you asking me?" Rodney said. "How should I know? It's not like he…" With an effort, Rodney stopped himself before his mouth ran away with him. "I don't know," he said simply. "Although if there was anything truly debilitating in Sheppard's genetic make-up, surely he wouldn't have been allowed in the military? I mean, I'm pretty sure you have to go through medicals and screenings and things."

"What about his gene?" Ronon said suddenly.

"You mean the Ancient one? I suppose it could be…but wait, I have it too, and they haven't dragged me away."

"But yours is artificially induced," Teyla pointed out. "Maybe Seldan's scanner could differentiate between them, and he decided that only Colonel Sheppard's was of interest. Maybe they have Ancient technology they wish to initialise, and they want John to assist them."

"If that was the case, why didn't they just _ask?_" Rodney started pacing again. "All this is just useless speculation, anyway," he said. "Until _someone_ tells us _something_, we have no idea what's going on, where Sheppard is, or even if he's still alive."

"You must not think like that, Rodney…" Teyla began, but Rodney cut her off.

"In fact, I think it's time we got some answers." His pacing had brought him once again to the end of the room where the door was, and he raised his hand to the doorknob, intent on pulling it open and demanding of the guard outside that he fetch Seldan, right now. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ronon rise to his feet, clearly getting ready for action, and Teyla doing likewise, although her expression clearly said she doubted the wisdom of this course of action.

But before he could grab the doorknob, the door was suddenly opened from the other side, to reveal Seldan on the threshold. He had two of his guards with him – Rodney thought they were the ones who had 'escorted' him and the others to the city earlier, but he couldn't be sure. The monotony of their clothing made all the Nimaani look the same.

However, their fashion sense wasn't really the issue at hand right now, and Rodney opened his mouth to release the flood of questions he wanted answers to.

But Seldan forestalled him. "It is done," the Nimaani representative said. "Colonel Sheppard's transgression has been confirmed, and the appropriate punishment had been decided upon. You will come and bear witness."

"Transgression? What transgression? Tell us what's going on!" Rodney stepped close to Seldan, getting right up in his face, and the two guards immediately drew out their weapons and pointed them at him. He felt Teyla's hands on his shoulders, pulling him back, and although he couldn't see him, he knew Ronon was bristling.

Rodney allowed himself to be moved back a little, but that didn't stop him asking further questions. "And punishment? What the hell does that mean? What are you going to do to Sheppard?"

"You will come," Seldan repeated sternly. "You will learn everything you need to in due time."

"We must go with them, Rodney," Teyla said quietly.

"Yeah, we need to see Sheppard," Ronon added. Unspoken was the _and get him out of here_, although Rodney wasn't sure how they would accomplish that with no plan, no weapons, and guards watching their every movement.

He took refuge in irritation. "Of _course_ we're going," he retorted. "I just don't like being kept in the dark, that's all." He glared at Seldan, but the Nimaani seemed impervious to his ire. There was no trace of the friendly man who had greeted them at the way station in his hard countenance. Rodney was getting a very bad feeling about this – whatever Sheppard had supposedly done, it must be serious. In the eyes of the Nimaani, at least.

Seldan stood back and allowed them to exit the room. Then he proceeded to lead the way down the corridor outside, the two guards falling in behind them, their weapons drawn.

As they walked, Rodney heard snatches of Ronon and Teyla's muttered conversation. He didn't catch all of it, but it sounded very much like Ronon was proposing he jump Seldan and force him to tell them where Sheppard was. Teyla's measured tones were even harder to hear, but Rodney suspected she was persuading him not to be so rash. He was glad. For a start, the guards behind them would probably shoot them before Ronon had moved six inches. And even if they did 'persuade' Seldan to take them to Sheppard, then what? They'd still be in the middle of a foreign city with guards everywhere and no weapons of their own.

Although… Rodney's brain clicked into gear. If they could get Seldan to lead them to Sheppard, maybe they could also get him to take them to the gate. No one would accost them if they appeared to be under the protection of one of the Nimaani's most important ambassadors. Would they?

As Rodney desperately tried to think how he could communicate this idea to his team-mates (and he was sure Ronon would approve, even if Teyla was more doubtful), Seldan led them down a wide flight of stairs, and indicated to yet another pair of guards stationed at the bottom that they should push open a large, ornate pair of doors in front of them.

As a group they stepped out into the sunshine, and Rodney suddenly realised that it was far too late. There was no time for a plan of any kind.

They were in what appeared to be the city's main square, with imposing buildings surrounding it on all sides. It was obviously some kind of civic centre, and Rodney supposed that meant the building they had just exited was the city hall. Or maybe, considering why they had been dragged here, the courthouse.

But it wasn't the buildings that caught his eye first. It was the people.

The square was packed. There was an open space at the centre of it, but the edges were lined with people numbering into the hundreds. Logically, Rodney knew it couldn't be the case, but it looked like the whole city had turned out for Sheppard's 'punishment'. Rodney's bad feeling got worse – what transgression could possibly merit such a crowd of witnesses?

There were more steps leading down from the doors, and room at the foot of them for the Atlanteans to stand separate from the crowd. The door guards had moved into flanking positions around them, and it suddenly occurred to Rodney to wonder whether the crowd was being protected from them, or _they_ were being protected from the crowd.

The answer to that question became a little more apparent a few moments later, as they were spotted and mutters started up among the knots of people standing closest to them – unfriendly whispers and gestures that made Rodney long to protest that they hadn't done anything wrong. Teyla was staring fixedly ahead, and Ronon was scowling at anyone who dared to catch his eye. Rodney noticed with a certain amount of satisfaction that most people quailed under that look.

He looked around the square, taking in the impressiveness of the buildings and their architecture. This was certainly a civilisation that hadn't been culled in a long while. Still, he was surprised to note that, despite the Nimaani's' technological advancements, their city didn't look particularly 'futuristic'. In fact, with their columns and pediments and porticos, the buildings reminded him rather strongly of some of architecture around DC.

It struck Rodney as slightly hypocritical. He knew it was probably an attempt on the part of the Nimaani to downplay how much progress they had made, but it seemed a pointless ploy when they were apparently perfectly happy to whip out their scanners and other doohickies in view of every visiting Tom, Dick, and Harry.

_And use their transportation technology to whisk Sheppard away to whatever awful fate they have planned for him_, Rodney added silently to himself.

"Hey, look at that." Ronon nudged him and jerked his head towards something at the centre of the square.

Rodney dropped his eyes from the roofline, and looked in the direction indicated. For a moment he couldn't worked out what he was seeing. It was a simple A-frame made of wooden poles lashed together, its appearance one of rusticity and hasty construction.

Beside him, Teyla drew in a sharp breath. "I believe that is a…"

The rest of her words were drowned out by the sounding of a gong. In fact, the noise was loud enough to overshadow all the mutterings, catcalls, and jeers of the crowd, and everyone fell silent as it reverberated around the square.

Stillness settled momentarily over the masses, and then there was movement off to Rodney's right in the corner of the square. The crowd there parted slightly, allowing a small procession of people through.

It was led by a man Rodney didn't recognise, but who was clearly an official of some kind, like Seldan, and whose robe was a darker shade of grey than the representative's – almost black, in fact. Behind him walked a second Nimaani man, this one dressed in rough brown breeches tucked into worn boots, his chest covered by a leather vest. There was nothing particularly remarkable about him, but for some reason his presence made Rodney's skin crawl, and he felt the dread of anticipation coil in his stomach.

Behind these three came four guards, escorting someone in their midst. As they cleared the crowd, Rodney saw that it was Sheppard. He wasn't bound or chained, but hemmed in by the guards he might as well have been. He was also stripped to the waist, and as he and his Nimaani accusers came to a halt in front of the wooden frame, facing the courthouse, his dog-tags caught the late afternoon sun streaming over the building's roof, shining brightly.

Rodney wondered if Sheppard knew they were watching – he hadn't acknowledged them, or even glanced at them, and Rodney supposed it was possible that the glare of the sunshine was blinding him. He opened his mouth to call out, to let Sheppard know that he wasn't alone, certain that he would be heard in the silence of the square, but a nudge from the weapon of the guard directly behind him warned him to keep his mouth shut, and his words died unuttered.

Then the man in the dark robe started to speak.

"Hear me, people of Nimaan. I am Justice Davos, and I come before you today to deliver that which my title bestows on me. This man and his companions have come to us from a distant world." Davos gestured first to Sheppard, and then towards Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon, an action that could have left Sheppard in no doubt as to their presence, although he still didn't look at them.

"They have come to us from the City of the Ancients. From Atlantis itself!" Davos continued. "We would have welcomed them as friends, as allies even, but before they had been an hour on our world, they had betrayed our trust."

_What? Betrayed their trust? How could we have done?_ Rodney tried to call out again, but another nudge, this time accompanied by an annoyed grunt, from the guard kept him quiet once again.

"This man," Davos pointed to Sheppard again, more emphatically than before, "Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard of Atlantis, leader of this team who professed friendship, would have sullied our ideals and corrupted our decent, honest way of life with his disgusting, immoral ways."

A ripple of shocked gasps went round the square, and Rodney looked at Sheppard, to see how he was taking this absurdity, but Sheppard's eyes were directed towards the ground, his face carefully blank.

"This man," repeated Davos, and his voice was diamond-hard now, "is to be punished for his base unnatural desires. For the crime of having carnal and intimate knowledge of another man, which as everyone knows is a despicable and vile act, and which every decent and moral person must abhor."

Rodney felt the blood drain from his face as Davos pronounced Sheppard's crimes. At first he thought the roaring in his ears was the shouting of the crowd, but then he realised that the Nimaani people were silent, and the noise was all in his head. He felt dizzy and ill, and he was only dimly aware of Teyla laying a comforting hand on his arm as he swayed.

"No!" someone shouted, and it was only then that Rodney realised it was him. "You can't do this!"

The guard did more than nudge him this time, and only Teyla's hold stopped him from falling to his knees on the stones of the square. "He's done nothing wrong," he croaked around the lump suddenly lodged in his throat.

Seldan looked at him disdainfully. "The evidence is incontrovertible," he said. "Colonel Sheppard has brought this uncleanness among us, and he must be punished."

Then Davos took up the thread again. "For his crime, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard of Atlantis is sentenced to twenty-five lashes. People of Nimaan, bear witness to this punishment, and take heed of it. This crime will _not_ be tolerated."

On cue, guards poked and prodded Sheppard towards the wooden frame, the purpose of which was now all too clear. They turned him to face it, and two dangling pieces of rope were used to secure Sheppard's arms to the frame above his head. Rodney could see the tension in the muscles of Sheppard's shoulders as his arms were pulled high, and he silently exhorted Sheppard to fight back. But then, what would that gain him? Nothing – except possibly a more 'permanent' punishment.

The nondescript man who had set Rodney's teeth on edge unhooked something from the side of the frame, which as he uncoiled it revealed itself to be a long, cruel-looking whip. The man checked it over carefully, and Rodney almost flinched away from the look of satisfaction on his face – here was someone who obviously took pride in his work, and what that meant didn't bear thinking about.

The guards finished securing Sheppard to the frame, and then stepped back. Davos did likewise, and then the justice gave a nod. "Begin."

The man with the whip planted his feet firmly and swung back his arm, the whip flowing fluidly through the air as he wielded it.

Any hope that Rodney might have had that the man would start slowly and work up his enthusiasm for the task gradually died the instant the whip cracked against Sheppard's skin. Red blossomed there instantly, and Sheppard's body convulsed, although he didn't make a sound.

He couldn't watch after that. Rodney turned his face away, feeling guilty and ashamed that he wasn't strong enough to watch Sheppard's punishment, that he couldn't be as strong as Sheppard was. Beside him, Ronon had his fists clenched, his entire body shaking with rage. And Teyla's comforting hand on Rodney's arm had turned into a death grip, her fingers biting into his skin with enough force to hurt. But Rodney didn't say anything. That pain was nothing to what he knew Sheppard must be experiencing.

But even though he couldn't watch, he couldn't stop himself from hearing. The rhythmic swish and crack of the whip was accompanied by gasps and whispers from the crowd, and Davos's clear voice counting the lashes aloud. Sheppard himself was almost completely silent, taking it all with a stoicism that both impressed and horrified Rodney. Only on the penultimate lash did he break, a shrill, cracked wail issuing from him that made Rodney look round against his will.

He felt the nausea rise suddenly in his throat as he beheld the bloody ruin of Sheppard's back, and his knees buckled, Teyla unable to hold him up this time as he slumped to the floor.

He didn't hear the final crack of the whip, or Davos's satisfied voice calling out "Twenty-five!" Only one thought was circling inside his head.

_It should be me too._

*~*~*~*~*

The guard in front of her punched a code into the numeric pad beside the door and then pulled it open when it beeped, standing aside to let Teyla pass. She nodded at him graciously, but received only a stony stare in return. Keeping the neutral expression on her face, Teyla nonetheless sighed internally. The Nimaani security forces were clearly not going to be won over by good manners.

However, all thoughts of the guard's discourtesy were driven from her mind as she stepped into the room and saw Colonel Sheppard lying face down on a pallet in the corner. Teyla hurried over and knelt down next to him, since there was nothing in the cell that might serve as any kind of chair.

"Colonel Sheppard? John? Can you hear me?"

There was no response, although his breathing reassured her that he was still alive. She switched her gaze to his back. It had been whipped raw, the skin broken, weeping and bloody in dozens of places, and although a rudimentary effort had been made to wipe away the worst of the blood, it was clear that no kind of medical assistance had been offered. In some places there were even darker smudges that indicated that the whip used hadn't been clean, and Teyla had spent enough time around Dr. Beckett to know that dirt in wounds such as these almost certainly equalled infection.

Fury such as she very rarely let herself feel welled up in her, and she pictured herself rising to her feet and crossing to the door, pounding on it and shouting until someone came, and she could make them acknowledge what they'd done. By force, if necessary.

But she knew that would avail her nothing. Justice Davos had allowed her only fifteen minutes to see John, and until those fifteen minutes were up the door wouldn't open. The guards would be deaf to any cries, and she knew if she tried to open it herself, she would find it locked again.

There was nothing she could do. Nothing except be here for John in this painfully small and completely inadequate way.

"Hey, Teyla."

John was watching her, his eyes glazed with pain. His wheezing breath whistled in and out of his slackly parted lips, and his expression was one of almost incomprehension at his situation.

"John," she greeted him calmly – a lot more calmly than she felt. She would not ask him how he was, as the answer to that question was all too apparent.

"You alone?"

And that was another condition of this visit. Fifteen minutes and only her. The Nimaani were adamant. They couldn't prove whether either of the other two male members of Sheppard's team had been complicit in his 'crime', but they were taking no chances. Teyla, and Teyla only, would be allowed to see the colonel.

Ronon had ranted and threatened and promised dire retribution upon hearing the decision, but it was Rodney's silence that had frightened Teyla more. Normally McKay would have been equalling, if not outdoing, Ronon with his protests, but all he'd done was look desperately at Teyla as she had left, a mute plea for her to make sure John was all right.

John was not all right. But he was alive and his punishment was over. It was slim comfort, but Teyla clung to it nonetheless.

She smiled at John. "We thought it best that only one of us came," she lied smoothly. "We did not wish to…over-tax you."

John nodded, and she could see how much even that small movement cost him. "Thought…must be something…like that," he said. His words were slurring badly, and his eyes were dimming as the pain re-asserted itself over his willpower. "McKay…all right?" he asked, the words stuttering out between harsh breaths.

"Rodney is fine," Teyla replied. Another lie, but obviously a necessary one, as something in John's face relaxed minutely at her answer. She thought back to Rodney's utter horror as they had stood witness with hundreds of Nimaani in the city square, the way he had so obviously been holding back sobs when the justice's men had untied John from the frame and dragged his limp body away, and to his silence when the guard had come to escort Teyla to John's cell, and her heart went out to both of them. She couldn't really spare them any of this, and small lies were the only comfort she had to offer.

"Good." John's eyes fluttered closed once or twice, and when he opened them again, he quirked his lips in what was obviously supposed to be a smile. "Could do with some…rum," he said obliquely.

Teyla frowned a little. "I am sorry, John, I do not understand."

"Had sodomy and…the lash – think I deserve the rum…too." A rasping chuckle came from John's throat, but it almost immediately dissolved into a whimper of pain. "Hurts," he sighed plaintively. "Make it stop…"

He was slipping into delirium, and Teyla reached out a hand to stroke his hair soothingly, making an effort to conceal her worry.

"Sssh, everything will be all right, John. We will be back in Atlantis soon, and all will be well."

She wasn't sure if he'd even heard her words. His eyes were closed again, and Teyla found herself feeling grateful for his renewed unconsciousness. At least there he might be free of the pain for a little while.

She watched John, continuing to stroke his hair gently, until another beep from the vicinity of the door told her that her fifteen minutes were up. Teyla stood, her face a mask as she swivelled to face the door, which opened to admit Justice Davos, the ever present guards following behind him.

"It is time for you to leave," Davos instructed.

"I know," Teyla replied, her voice hard. She stepped towards him, until there were only scant inches between them, and she knew that only Davos would be able to hear the low words she spoke next.

"In my previous dealings with your people, I had always considered the Nimaani to be a reasonable and enlightened race. Of course, I knew you had your customs, but that is the prerogative of every people. But I had not expected to find such barbarity in your culture. It is despicable, and I find I can no longer call you friends."

Davos appeared completely unmoved. "A pity," he said coldly. "I am sure the Nimaani will be devastated to learn that they no longer have the friendship of such as the Athosians." His disdain and condescension were obvious, but before Teyla could respond, he gestured imperiously to the door. "Now, please leave. Your time with Colonel Sheppard is at an end."

Teyla had no choice but to exit the cell, emerging into the corridor to find Seldan and another two guards awaiting her.

"We will escort you back to the rest of your team," Seldan said, his tone polite but removed.

"And what about Colonel Sheppard?" Teyla asked. "Now that he has been 'punished', may we take him home?"

"His punishment is not over yet," replied Seldan.

"What? What are you talking about? _What are you doing with him?_"

Davos and his guards had exited the cell as well, and they had John with them. Each guard was grasping one of his arms, and he was dangling limply between them, his feet scraping along the floor.

"As Seldan has just said, his punishment is not over yet," Davos said calmly.

"But what are you going to do? Was not your barbaric flogging _enough?_"

"That was for our people," Davos said. "A lesson to them, to discourage any of them from falling into unclean ways." He fixed Teyla with a look that clearly said that if he could have found some way to prove them all unclean, he would have done. "But now we must focus our efforts on Colonel Sheppard himself. We must make him see the error of his ways. He must be _purged_."

"But you'll kill him," Teyla protested. "He cannot take much more of your 'purging' as you call it. Please, he needs medical assistance. Let us take him home, and I promise none of us will ever trouble you again."

She knew she was pleading, and she hated herself for it – to be reduced to begging to these people made her feel ill. But Teyla couldn't take her eyes from the way John's head lolled in his unconsciousness, and the slow trickle of blood curling around the bottom of his ribcage from a gash that had been knocked when the guards had moved him.

But Davos was once again unmoved. He gestured to the guards, and they moved off, dragging John between them.

"Wait!" Teyla cried, as Davos turned to follow them. "You cannot do this! You have no _right!_"

But Seldan's guards had moved in front of her, blocking the corridor and pointing their weapons at her. Her hands curled into frustrated fists as John and his captors disappeared around a corner, and Seldan cleared his throat behind her.

"The punishment is necessary," he intoned, in a way that made Teyla wish she could give in to her anger, just for a moment. "Rest assured that when he has been properly purged, he will be returned to you and your friends, and you will all be allowed to leave."

*~*~*~*~*

The surprise on Elizabeth's face was immediately obvious as Rodney stepped out of the event horizon.

"You're back early. We weren't expecting you until…"

Then the surprise turned to shock, and then horror, her words stuttering to a halt, and Rodney knew that she'd seen the rest of the team exiting the wormhole behind him – Teyla first, and then Ronon, carrying the unconscious Sheppard slung over one shoulder.

To her credit, her reaction only lasted for a second before the mask of professionalism slid back into place, and Elizabeth started speaking hurriedly into her radio, ordering a medical team to the gateroom as quickly as possible.

"Rodney, what happened?"

He looked at her, for once unable to formulate any sort of response, and Teyla stepped in quickly.

"There was a…misunderstanding."

Elizabeth's eyes darted over to Ronon again, who was still supporting Sheppard's unconscious body effortlessly, as if he weighed no more than a child. Rodney found himself absurdly grateful that the other man hadn't just dumped Sheppard on the floor, and then abruptly felt ashamed, because of course Ronon would never even contemplate doing such a thing, even if he was at the very end of his strength.

"That looks like a bit more than a misunderstanding," Elizabeth was saying, her eyes flashing.

Teyla inclined her head in agreement, but did not elaborate. Explanations could wait until they weren't under the curious gazes of all the gateroom staff.

"Rodney? Rodney, are you all right?"

From somewhere Rodney summoned up a nod, but he could tell Elizabeth wasn't convinced. However, he was saved from further questioning by Carson arriving with a gurney and a medical team. Beckett came to a momentary halt as he saw Sheppard, but then he was all business again, helping Ronon lower the colonel gently to the gurney, face down to avoid putting any pressure on his back.

As the medics started to wheel the gurney back the way they had come, Rodney found himself following, as if there was an invisible thread between him and Sheppard, and he was being pulled along against his will. Dimly he was aware of Teyla and Ronon and Elizabeth following behind, but most of his attention was fixed on the gurney and the patient it was carrying.

He followed all the way to the infirmary, listening to Carson's exhortations to his staff to be careful, his soft questions to Sheppard, and the deafening silence as Sheppard refused to wake up and answer him.

He tried to keep out of the way as Carson and the nurses bustled around Sheppard, moving him gently to a bed and setting about cleaning and tending his injuries, but Beckett's repeated instructions to "Get out of the way, Rodney!" told him he wasn't being very successful.

Sheppard remained dead to the world throughout, not even the renewed pain that Rodney was sure must be resulting from the antiseptics Carson was using was enough to rouse him.

But finally the preliminary ministering was done, and Rodney could get closer, sliding into a chair beside the bed, one finger brushing John's arm before he resolutely clasped his hands together in his lap.

John looked unutterably fragile, his eyes closed, skin pale, and his back a patchwork of gauze and tape and bandages. Rodney figured he should be used to seeing him this way by now, but he wasn't. And besides, normally not even injury could slow John Sheppard down. He might be shot, broken, and bleeding, but he would always fight on, could always muster another wisecrack or flippant remark to piss their enemies off even more. This stillness, this vulnerability, was unusual.

Rodney just watched John for a while, unsure whether to will him to wake up, or be grateful that his unconsciousness was sparing him the worst of the pain. From somewhere nearby came a low muttering, as Beckett extracted as much detail about John's injuries as he could from Teyla, Elizabeth standing by and listening intently. Ronon was looming at the end of John's bed like the world's most terrifying guard dog, as if he thought the Nimaani were going to burst in at any second and start punishing John again. Rodney gave him a faint smile (one that he suspected looked more like a grimace), and turned his attention back to John again.

"Rodney? Rodney?"

Teyla's hand settled gently on his shoulder, and he twisted round in his seat to look up at her, blinking a little.

"Dr. Weir is ordering a debriefing," Teyla continued. "She wishes to hear a clear explanation of what happened."

"But…"

"And she wants _all_ of us to attend," Teyla said firmly, although her eyes were understanding. "Colonel Sheppard will be in Dr. Beckett's more than capable hands, and hopefully the debriefing will not take long."

_Yeah, because how long can it take to tell her that the Nimaani are assholes, and they beat John senseless for no good reason?_ Rodney thought bitterly to himself. But nonetheless, he nodded and clambered stiffly to his feet, knowing the explanations were necessary. And besides, maybe he could convince Elizabeth to send a naquadah bomb through the Gate to Nimaan.

*~*~*~*~*

Although Elizabeth had heard something of what had happened on M3X-587 (otherwise known as Nimaan) down in the infirmary, she'd insisted on hearing it all again, right from the beginning. Teyla had still kept her description of their welcome by Seldan, and the events immediately following it, thankfully brief, but by the end of it Elizabeth still looked rather upset, as well she might. Those who didn't know her would probably only see mild concern, but Rodney could see the tension in her body and around her jaw-line as she fought to contain her anger, and the whiteness of her knuckles as she clenched her hands together on the tabletop.

He himself hadn't listened to Teyla's recitation. He'd experienced events firsthand, and had no desire to relive them – well, no more than he was already doing inside his own head, anyway. Instead he'd used the time to gather himself a little, and try to think up ways to convince Elizabeth that the Nimaani deserved some punishment of their own.

"You said something about the public…chastisement…being only the first part of John's punishment?" Elizabeth asked. "Was there something else to it?"

Teyla nodded. "We believe so. However, the Nimaani were rather unforthcoming as to what the second stage entailed. They simply took Colonel Sheppard away, and would not answer any of our questions about what was being done to him."

"Next thing we knew, they'd dumped him back on us, and told us to get the hell out of town," Ronon put in.

"And they didn't explain it to you even then?"

"Nope."

"So we don't know if anything else _has_ been done to Colonel Sheppard?"

"It is not much consolation, but he appeared to be in the same state when they brought him back to us as he had been in when I saw him previously in his cell," Teyla said. "Whatever this further punishment was, it does not seem to have been physical."

"And the Nimaani were unwilling to interact with you any further after this episode? There is no way we can persuade them they might be mistaken in their assessment of us and our ways?"

Rodney felt a flash of anger at that, but it quickly died. Of course Elizabeth had to ask these questions. As the leader of Atlantis, she had to put the needs of the city and _all_ its people first. They needed allies. And despite their bigoted ways, the Nimaani were still one of the most technologically advanced races they'd encountered so far (at least, of the ones that didn't try to suck out a person's life-force as soon as they met them). They would make very useful allies.

It didn't make him any more enthusiastic about the idea of a second attempt to make friends, however.

"I do not believe they will change their minds," Teyla was saying. "They were very…emphatic."

Elizabeth sighed. "I realise I shouldn't say this, but I can't say I'm particularly unhappy about that outcome. I think we would find it very difficult to be friends with people who would do such a thing with so little provocation." She paused, and then continued. "I suppose there's no way _we_ can prove they were mistaken in their accusations?"

But before anyone could answer, one of the revolving conference room doors swung open to admit Beckett. The doctor took a seat, and Elizabeth smiled encouragingly at him.

"How is Colonel Sheppard? Can you give us an update on his condition?"

Carson grimaced. "A mess, is what he is," he replied succinctly. "These people didn't hold back, that's for sure."

Rodney gave a bitter bark of laughter. "We could have told you that."

Beckett looked at him sympathetically for a moment, and then nodded in acknowledgement of his words. "Well, I've performed a full body examination, as Dr. Weir requested earlier. Not knowing exactly what's been done to the Colonel apart from the obvious physical injuries, we both felt that would be the best course of action."

"And?" Elizabeth raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"And the wounds are going to take some time to heal," Beckett responded. "It'll be a minor bloody miracle if he doesn't get an infection in the meantime, and he'll definitely be left with significant scarring. But the strangest aspect of the colonel's condition at the moment is that he's still unconscious."

"Strange how?" Elizabeth asked. "Couldn't his unconsciousness be his body's response to the pain he's in?"

"It _could_ be," Beckett acknowledged. "But I say strange because I've found traces of a stimulant in Colonel Sheppard's system, enough that under normal conditions I'd at least expect him to be awake, if not necessarily lucid." Beckett frowned. "I'm forced to conclude that the colonel's continuing unconsciousness is the result of this other punishment inflicted on him, and not knowing what that punishment was means that I can't predict when he might wake up. At this point all we can do is wait and see, and keep monitoring him."

"And what about the other matter?" said Elizabeth. "I was just asking the rest of Colonel Sheppard's team if there was any way to prove or disprove the Nimaani's accusations."

Carson looked uncomfortable. "I'm afraid I can't say anything on that subject," he replied. "Colonel Sheppard may be unconscious, but patient confidentiality still stands."

"What if I deemed it necessary for you to tell me?" Elizabeth said mildly. "Your findings may relate to this other form of punishment John was subjected to."

"I don't believe that's the case, Dr. Weir. Given the nature of the Nimaani complaint again Colonel Sheppard, I don't think they had anything to do with what I have discovered."

"But you can't be sure of that," Elizabeth argued.

Beckett looked stubborn. "If my findings become relevant, I will of course apprise you of them," he said. "But at this moment I do not believe this matter has any bearing on the safety of Atlantis. _Or_ Colonel Sheppard's ability to do his job. And therefore the information will remain confidential for the time being."

Rodney cleared his throat, knowing he needed to interrupt before a real argument started. "There's no need for this," he said hoarsely. "I can tell you what you need to know, Elizabeth."

Carson's eyebrows shot up at that, and Elizabeth glanced sharply at Rodney. Teyla and Ronon, however, looked remarkably unsurprised by the turn events had taken, which, Rodney reflected briefly, didn't really surprise _him_. Those two always noticed more than they let on.

Elizabeth's expression softened. "Rodney, you don't have to say any more," she said gently. "You're not part of the military, but John _is_, and therefore, if you don't want to tell, I won't ask."

"No, no, it's fine," Rodney said, waving his hand in feigned impatience and irritation, although he knew he wasn't really fooling anyone.

"In that case, would you like to do this privately?" Elizabeth asked. "Just the two of us? We could go to my office."

Rodney looked around. Carson still looked slightly shocked, but Teyla was giving him a supportive smile, and Ronon – well, he looked like Ronon, something that Rodney found oddly reassuring.

He swallowed. "They can stay," he said, as firmly as he could. "I'm not ashamed of what I have to say."

"All right."

Rodney looked directly at Carson. "I know you can't confirm either way, but I'm assuming that during your treatment of Colonel Sheppard you found some evidence of sexual activity," he said bluntly. "Sexual activity with a man," he elaborated. "Stretching, maybe minute tears around the anal region, for example?"

He felt himself flushing as he spoke, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground. Or perhaps Atlantis could spontaneously transport him into space – that would have to be less painful than this. Nonetheless, he forced himself to look at everyone else in the room, meeting each of their eyes in turn. He had to do this, for John. "And you all know there's only one way I could possibly know anything about that," he continued, forcing the words out. "The Nimaani weren't wrong."

Ronon was the first to speak into the silence that followed Rodney's confession. "Doesn't excuse what they did, though," he growled.

"No, it doesn't," Elizabeth agreed. She looked at Rodney. "Thank you, Rodney, for telling us that," she continued. "And rest assured that what has been said here will not leave this room. Neither you nor John need to worry about that."

Carson, Teyla, and Ronon all nodded, and Rodney felt relief sweep through him. He could rely on them, he knew. The Nimaani weren't the only judgemental culture in the Pegasus Galaxy, after all.

"Right." Elizabeth's tone was decisive. "I think we can leave it there for now. I'll need complete reports from each of you, but that can wait a little while, I think." She smiled at them all. "Carson, please keep me posted on Colonel Sheppard's condition, and let me know the minute he wakes up."

Beckett nodded, and stood as Elizabeth did. "Speaking of, I'd better be getting back to my patient."

"Carson?" Rodney said. The doctor paused halfway to the door. "Would it…would it be all right if I sat with him for a while?" He could feel himself blushing again, and furiously told himself not to be such a…such a _girl_.

But Carson was nodding. "Of course, Rodney. I'll expect you in the infirmary."

"Rodney?" Elizabeth was looking at him kindly, but firmly. "If you do want to talk further about this, you know my door is always open."

Rodney nodded, swallowing with difficulty. "Thanks. But I'm not sure if, well…"

"And of course there's always Dr. Heightmeyer," Elizabeth added, picking up on his reticence. "I'm sure she would be happy to…"

"No! That is, well, I'll think about it, okay?"

"Okay," said Elizabeth gently. "But it might be a good idea, Rodney."

He nodded again, and both Elizabeth and Carson gave him reassuring smiles before they left, leaving Rodney alone with Teyla and Ronon.

Again Ronon was the first to speak, cuffing Rodney across the shoulder as he did so. "Don't worry, McKay, he'll pull through."

Rodney resisted the urge to grimace at the pain now blossoming in his shoulder, and simply nodded instead. "Of course he will. John's practically indestructible – this is nothing."

He rose from his seat and made for the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get down to the infirmary."

"Rodney." Teyla had risen to her feet also, and as Rodney passed her she put out an arm to stop him. Bringing their foreheads together in the traditional Athosian manner, she held them there for a few moments. "I am very happy for you both," she said softly.

Rodney smiled at her crookedly. "Thanks. Now, I, er, better go."

"We will come and see John later, if that is all right with you?"

Rodney nodded quickly, and then headed for the infirmary.

*~*~*~*~*

It took him several moments to work out that the hushed voices and other equally quiet noises he could hear were actually real, and not a product of his unconscious psyche. When the realisation came, John summoned up what energy he could, and prised his eyes open slowly.

Everything was blurry, and he blinked a couple of times, although it didn't seem to help much. He also felt the fuzziness that he recognised as being a result of the _really_ good drugs, and for a moment he just concentrated on enjoying the floatiness, knowing that the pain was lurking somewhere just outside edges of his consciousness, and that it would come roaring back if it sensed so much as a sliver of an opportunity.

His vision wasn't really getting any better, and he blinked again, trying to work out what he was seeing, and failing miserably. He didn't remember there being quite so much white in the world. Although, to be honest, he didn't remember much of anything at the moment.

But he must have made some kind of sound, because abruptly the field of white shifted in a way that made him dizzy, and someone was speaking to him.

"Colonel? Are you back with us?"

John blinked again, which was really the only reaction he could make at the moment, and the voice tutted at him.

"Now don't try to move or speak," it warned (as if John had had any intention of doing either). "You've been unconscious for nearly sixteen hours, and you shouldn't try to do too much at once. I don't know how much you remember, but you've been badly hurt. Are you in any pain? Blink once for yes, twice for no."

John blinked twice.

"Good, that's good," the voice said, and John's brain finally provided the name _Beckett_ to go with it.

Beckett, that was a positive. Beckett meant he was on Atlantis, and not still on… But he couldn't remember where he had been, so he gave up on that.

But then the words _lab coat_ floated to the front of his mind, and he suddenly realised that was what the white was. Beckett was standing by his bed, wearing his lab coat. John felt oddly proud at having worked that out.

"I'm going to call Elizabeth, and tell her you're awake, okay?" Beckett was saying. "Don't worry, I'll also inform her you're not up to much – we won't let anyone bother you. I think one visitor is all you can cope with at the moment, don't you?"

_One visitor? _ John was momentarily confused (easily done, right now), until Beckett moved back and to the side a little, revealing a person slumped in a chair by the side of John's bed.

Not being able to see much further than the end of his own nose meant that John couldn't immediately work out who his visitor was. But when Beckett started shaking the person's shoulder gently, and muttering to them quietly, he put two and two together and just about managed to make four.

"Rodney? Rodney, wake up. The colonel's awake, and I'm sure you'd like to say hello."

"Wha…? What? He's awake?"

The figure that was Dr. McKay abruptly jerked bolt upright in his chair, confirming, if it hadn't already been obvious, that he'd been asleep. Then he leaned forward, and John just knew that McKay was peering at him, trying to work out if Beckett was yanking his chain.

"You _are_ awake," McKay said after a few seconds, sounding far more delighted by the development than John himself was feeling. "How are you doing?"

Then he appeared to realise that that was a stupid question, and one blurry hand came up to wave the enquiry away. "Never mind. Forget it."

Which was useful, because even if John had been able to answer it using his voice instead of blinking out a response in Morse code, he wasn't exactly sure what the answer would be. Okay, so he wasn't in pain – at the moment – but he _was_ just now becoming aware that he was lying on his front in the hospital bed. And hard on the heels of that thought came the realisation that Beckett hadn't explained to him yet what the exact nature of his injuries were.

And then of course there was the fact that he couldn't really remember what had happened since they'd exited the gate on…no he still couldn't bring a name or designation to mind. But he wasn't too worried about that yet. After all, he'd been unconscious for sixteen hours, and Beckett did have him on the good drugs – he was sure it would come back to him.

McKay had pulled his chair a bit closer, and it was either due to that, or because John's vision was clearing a little now, but the expression of deep concern on his face was suddenly very obvious.

"Rodney's been sitting here all night," he could hear Beckett saying cheerfully, although the doctor was now outside his currently limited field of vision. "Actually, I'm impressed he managed to put up with that chair for so long. And all without a word of complaint too."

"Shut up, Carson," McKay snapped, although he didn't take his eyes off John. "These chairs are torture devices, and you know it."

_All night?_ John was confused again. _McKay was here all night?_

"You're going to be all right, John," McKay said then, his voice quiet but certain. "You'll get through this."

John suddenly felt fingers curling around his hand where it lay on the blanket next to his thigh.

_That's weird_, he thought, even as a little voice in his head (which seemed to be doing a very good job of cutting through his fuzziness) told him that he should pull his hand away, that McKay shouldn't be doing that.

But moving anything other than his eyelids was most definitely beyond him right now, and so his hand had to stay clasped in McKay's.

"Be careful there, Rodney," Beckett said, and something in John's brain wanted to examine the double meaning that he was sure he could hear in that warning.

But the fuzziness in his brain was increasing again, and suddenly his eyelids felt very heavy.

"Carson!" McKay's voice sounded panicked. "He's going under again!"

"Relax, Rodney," Beckett said. "He's just falling asleep. It's the best thing for him at the moment." There was a pause. "You don't have to stay now, you know."

The last thing John heard before he slid into sleep was McKay's stubborn voice saying, "I'm staying."

*~*~*~*~*

"Have you told him yet?"

"No." Rodney's chin came up defensively as Elizabeth gave him a sharp look and sighed.

"Rodney, I need to talk to him about this now. Not to mention the fact that Heightmeyer is going to want to see him as soon as he's able to leave the infirmary. Don't you think it would be better coming from you than one of us?"

"You think I don't know that? But it's a little bit hard to tell someone you've outed them when they're barely able to keep their eyes open for five minutes together, and can't even seem to focus on your face."

It was a pathetic excuse, and they both knew it. After a nasty couple of days in which Carson's minor miracle _hadn't_ come to pass, and John had succumbed to an infection that had left him fevered and delirious, and during which Carson had pumped impressive amounts of antibiotics into him, John had thankfully started improving, and been getting more lucid by the day, although Carson had told everyone in no uncertain terms that they were to avoid upsetting his patient and addressing certain topics until he said otherwise. Rodney thought about pointing out that the topic he and Elizabeth were currently discussing would no doubt upset John, but he suspected that Elizabeth wouldn't be too accepting of that reasoning, despite its validity.

And unfortunately for Rodney, Carson had decided that today was the day that John was well enough to start addressing all sorts of topics, and thus Rodney was out of time. And out of excuses.

"Rodney, you need to tell him," Elizabeth said, her voice gentler now. "You know if it was you, you'd want to hear it from _him_."

"Yes, yes, all right. I'll tell him," Rodney snapped. "Just...give me a few minutes, okay? That should be more than enough time to tell him I've turned his life upside down."

Elizabeth nodded, and smiled at him in a way that was probably supposed to be understanding, although Rodney doubted that she actually _truly_ understood how horrible this was about to be. "I'll give you some time," she said. "But now that we've got Carson's say-so, I will be talking to John today. And sooner rather than later."

"So you said. Look, I'm going now, okay? See me walking away in the direction of the infirmary? You're getting your wish."

He could almost hear Elizabeth's despairing shake of the head as he went on his way.

*~*~*~*~*

John was looking impressively alert when Rodney entered the infirmary. He was awake and sitting up in bed – albeit propped further forward than usual thanks to the contraption Carson had rigged up to prevent him actually having to lean on his injured back – and his gaze fixed itself on Rodney the moment he came through the door.

However, he was also pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and looked like a stiff Lantean breeze would blow him over. To put not too fine a point on it, he looked like shit. Not that Rodney would dream of telling him that.

"You look like shit," he greeted John bluntly, coming to a halt at the foot of John's bed.

John smiled at him sardonically. "Hey, McKay," he responded, with a passable imitation of his normal laid-back drawl. "Nice to see you – _again_."

Rodney flushed a little. Okay, so he'd been spending a lot of time at John's bedside in the past week. And okay, that probably wasn't the best way to pretend that nothing was going on between them. Elizabeth, Teyla, Ronon, and Carson might know about their relationship now, but that was it – Rodney certainly didn't want the knowledge going any further, and he was sure John wouldn't either.

"Oh, so you noticed then?" he shot back, taking refuge in his own sarcasm. "You've been so out of it I'm surprised you even noticed you were alive."

John just gave him a look after that, and Rodney winced minutely. _Open mouth, insert foot._

"Believe me, McKay, I noticed," John said, although whether he was talking about Rodney's constant presence or his own presence in the land of the living wasn't clear.

"Um, anyway…" Rodney suddenly realised that he was delaying, and that he didn't have an infinite amount of time before Elizabeth popped up and started asking John her questions. "We need to talk about something."

"That sounds serious."

"Well, yes, it is actually…" Rodney trailed off, wondering how best to broach the subject.

"Just spit it out, McKay," said John, looking annoyed.

"All right, all right." Rodney took a breath. "I, er, had to tell Elizabeth about the reasons behind the Nimaani's actions," he blurted out.

John looked puzzled for a second. "Well, of course you did," he said finally. "I wouldn't have expected anything else."

"Oh." Rodney was taken aback. "And you're okay with that?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be? I've got nothing to be ashamed of."

"Good, good." This was going ridiculously well. Rodney found himself waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But it didn't seem like it was going to. John was still staring at him with that faintly bemused expression, but he didn't seem angry, or upset. Apparently Rodney had been worrying about nothing for the past week.

"Right, okay then. Fine. That's…good. I'll just…oh, Elizabeth is coming to see you in a bit."

"I know. Why do you think I let Beckett prop me up like so much dead meat?"

"Oh, of course. Are you…is it painful?"

"Well, it's not the most comfortable position I've ever been in."

"Sorry, of course not. Look, I'll just sit down here and we can wait for her together, okay?"

"Whatever you like, McKay. Not like I can stop you. Besides, that chair's practically got your name on it now."

Elizabeth turned up about fifteen minutes later, and managed to alert Carson to her presence, say hello to John, and direct a penetrating look at Rodney all at the same time. Rodney nodded quickly back at her, but made a mental note for the future that Elizabeth obviously considered a quarter of an hour long enough for life-changing revelations. Not that this revelation seemed to have been particularly life-changing, when it came right down to it. Rodney still couldn't quite believe that John was being so calm about the whole thing.

When Carson had joined them, Elizabeth turned a sympathetic smile on John. "I won't ask you to relive everything they did to you, John – Rodney and the others have told us about certain aspects of your time on Nimaan, and frankly I don't think we need to go over it again."

John nodded gratefully at that, but didn't say anything.

"But we do need to know about the parts that the rest of your team didn't witness. Before…and after."

"We know you're still recuperating, Colonel, and that things have been a bit fuzzy for you these past few days," Carson put in, "but anything you can remember would be useful to know."

John nodded again. "There's not much to tell," he said. "After Seldan and his goons whisked me away with that transportation gizmo, they chucked me in a cell, and then retired to consider their verdict. Which turned out to be guilty as charged. Not that they actually told me what they were charging me with until after they'd made their decision. I wasn't given any opportunity to mount a defence, or anything like that."

Rodney caught Carson's eye, just for a second. They all knew that there wouldn't have been much of a defence that John could have mounted, in any case.

"Anyway, then they took me to face my punishment. I'll give them this – their justice is damn efficient." John's lips twisted in something that wasn't quite a smile. "As you say, the next part you know."

"What about after that?" Elizabeth asked gently. "Teyla said that the Nimaani mentioned a purging, but they wouldn't elaborate further."

John's brow crinkled a little as he frowned. "I don't know about _purging_," he said slowly. "I'm pretty sure they gave me some kind of stimulant, because I went from practically unconscious to wide awake in about thirty seconds flat. And there must have been some kind of painkiller too, because my…well, I could barely feel my injuries at all. But after that, as far as I can remember, they just shoved me into a room and told me to think about what I'd done." He shrugged. "Which was easy, because as far as I was concerned, I hadn't _done_ anything."

John's eyes had remained firmly fixed on Elizabeth throughout his explanation, but when Rodney made a sudden movement, he glanced in Rodney's direction.

"That's _it?_" Rodney said disbelievingly. "That's all they did? Make you contemplate what a naughty boy you'd been, as if you were in kindergarten or something?"

"Rodney…" Elizabeth's tone was warning.

"That's it, McKay," John drawled. "Sorry that the tale didn't live up to your expectations."

Rodney flinched. "That isn't what I meant…" he started, but Elizabeth cut him off.

"Thank you, John," she said firmly. "I know that can't have been easy for you."

John shrugged again. "Comes with the job."

"Now that we've got that over with, perhaps you can let my patient concentrate on getting better?" Carson asked pointedly.

Elizabeth inclined her head graciously at him. "Of course, Doctor. I'll leave you to it." She smiled at John, and then gave Rodney another sharp look. "Don't wear him out, Rodney," she said. "And _don't_ forget that I want the report on the Stargate diagnostics on my desk by the end of the day."

"Yes, yes, Zelenka's going over the data as we speak. It'll be fine."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but didn't press the issue. "Feel better soon, John," she said, and left.

Rodney resisted the childish urge to poke his tongue out at her retreating back, and then turned in his chair to find John watching him.

"You don't have to stay, McKay," he said. "If you've got work to do…"

Rodney slid the tablet he'd brought with him off the bedside cabinet. "Nothing I can't do here," he assured John breezily. "I can just as easily correct all Zelenka's stupid mistakes sitting by your bedside as I can in my lab. Although, granted, this way I don't get the pleasure of telling him about his idiocy face-to-face."

But he didn't turn his attention to the tablet right away, instead looking at John curiously. "Are you _sure_ they didn't do anything else to you before they let you go?" he asked, frowning. "Wagging the metaphorical finger at you seems like a bit of a cop out after…well, after the other stuff."

John grimaced and turned his head away. "Yes, I'm _sure_, McKay," he replied, impatience colouring his tone.

"Right, sorry, of course. Anyway, like you said, you hadn't done anything wrong, so the whole thing was kind of pointless anyway."

Rodney ducked his head to look at the data scrolling across the screen of the tablet, one hand absentmindedly reaching out to grasp John's. Five minutes later he was so engrossed in his work that he didn't notice the fingers sliding out of his, nor the odd look that John was now giving him.

*~*~*~*~*

The first thing Rodney saw when he entered the infirmary was a conspicuously empty bed. Conspicuously because he'd expected John to be in it, and empty because, well, John _wasn't_ in it.

He wouldn't panic. He would _not_ panic. What he would do was calmly find Carson, and politely ask him how the hell he had managed to lose his most important patient.

However, Carson forestalled what would have been a very calm storming into his office, and a very polite rant about his stupidity by appearing in person and smiling at Rodney.

"Ah, Rodney, what can I do for you? Bump on the head is it? Splinter? Or maybe a paper cut?"

But Rodney ignored the barbs. "Where's Jo…Sheppard?" he snapped.

Carson blinked. "He's not here."

"I can see that. I have _eyes_."

"I released him this morning. He's gone back to his quarters." Carson was frowning a little now. "Didn't he tell you? I did let him know that it was a possibility yesterday."

"No." Rodney was frowning himself.

"Oh." There was a moment of silence, and the Carson smiled again, in a way that was no doubt intended to be reassuring. "Well, he probably didn't get a chance. You have been busy the past few days, after all."

Rodney scowled at him, although he couldn't deny the truth of that. A rash of problems had sprung up around Atlantis over the past seventy-two hours that had kept him and his team busy from dawn until dusk, and usually well beyond. None of the issues had been particularly serious, but each of them seemed to have been connected to another, and then another, until Rodney had wondered whether the city wasn't just creating new glitches on purpose to drive him crazy.

The upshot of that was that Rodney had barely had time to see John over the past three days. His visits had been reduced to a quick hello here and there, normally on the way to another malfunctioning console or control crystal, and a very brief stop to deliver another book from the stack that people had donated to keep John occupied while he was recuperating.

So it wasn't really surprising that John hadn't found the time to tell him about his release.

And yet, something niggled. The book delivery had been yesterday, when the glitches and problems were finally starting to come under control, and Rodney had felt it was safe enough to take more than two minutes' break. But John hadn't mentioned anything at all about the possibility of escaping from the infirmary, hadn't pointed out that as of the next day he would be able to fetch his own books.

And come to think of it, hadn't John been strangely uncommunicative too? And not just yesterday, but in the days before that, as well? Ever since he'd woken up properly from his fevered drifting, he'd been distant, and more than once Rodney had caught a puzzled look directed at him, as if John was constantly surprised that Rodney was there.

Rodney shook his head to clear his muddled musings away. He was imagining things – too much stress and too little sleep, that was all.

Carson was watching him, a faintly worried expression on his face, and Rodney grinned slightly. "You're probably right," he said. "He probably just didn't get a chance to tell me. Either that or I've just forgotten. Things have been a bit crazy round here lately – I've had a lot of important stuff on my mind. He's gone to his quarters, you say?"

"Yes. But," Carson wagged a stern finger in Rodney's face, "_don't_ go getting him all excited. I may have released him, but he's still healing, and he's still weak. I simply judged that he'd do better in pleasanter surroundings from now on – that doesn't mean you two can get up to any…"

"Oh god, _stop_," said Rodney frantically. "Please, _please_ stop. Just because I had to tell you, does not mean you get to make any kind of comment on anything to do with…well, with John and me."

"All right, all right." Carson held up his hands placatingly, although his eyes were twinkling. "Just be _careful_, that's all I ask."

"Of course," Rodney muttered. "As if I'd be anything else."

*~*~*~*~*

As he raised his hand to the door-chime, Rodney hesitated suddenly. It hadn't occurred to him on the way over here from the infirmary, but now he wondered – what if John hadn't told him that he was getting out because he wanted some time alone? What if he didn't want to see Rodney?

No, that was ridiculous. Of _course_ he'd want to see Rodney. Rodney snorted softly at himself, and then rang the chime.

After a few seconds, the door slid open smoothly, and Rodney stepped over the threshold. John was sitting bolt upright on the edge of his bed, looking at him.

"Oh, it's you."

Not the warmest greeting Rodney had ever received, but he wouldn't let it deter him. "Yes, it's me," he replied. "You were expecting someone else?"

"I…no, not really."

"Good. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been run over by a truck. Several times," John replied. "Although that's a vast improvement on a week ago."

He rose stiffly to his feet, ignoring Rodney's hand-flaps that told him he should stay seated. "Was there something you wanted, McKay?"

There it was again. The distance. Rodney did his best to ignore it.

"Why didn't you tell me Carson was letting you out of the infirmary today?" he asked bluntly.

John shrugged. "I figured the doc would let you know sooner or later. Or Elizabeth would."

"What? But why wouldn't you…?"

"Do I have to keep you apprised of all my movements now, McKay?"

"Well, no, of course not." _Just the important ones._

"Anyway, you found out, didn't you? From Beckett, I take it? Like I predicted?"

"I would have preferred to find out from…" Rodney trailed off as something occurred to him. It was almost an epiphany. "Oh. _Oh._ I get it. You don't want to be too obvious about things. Well, that's just stupid. I _told_ you, Carson and Elizabeth know. And Teyla and Ronon. I had to tell them. You don't need to worry about hiding stuff from them. And don't worry about what people will think of me visiting you all the time either. We're friends, everyone knows that. They probably didn't even notice."

"McKay, what are you talking about? I'm not trying to hide anything. I told you I was fine with you explaining it to them."

"So what's the problem, then?" Rodney demanded, certain now that there was one. John was being weird, and he _wasn't_ imagining it.

"I just don't see why…"

Rodney snapped his fingers suddenly, drawing an annoyed look from John. "Oh my god. This is some sort of noble, self-sacrificing crap, isn't it? You're thinking that _this_," he waved a hand between them, "is becoming a liability. You know it could quite easily have been me being punished, and you're trying to protect me. You stupid, stupid _idiot_."

Rodney couldn't decide whether he wanted to hit John or hug him. In view of John's already fragile state, he chose the latter, walking across the room and sliding his hands around John's body. They didn't normally do this kind of thing, although Rodney felt the situation warranted it on this occasion. Although he'd definitely make sure that no one else found out about it.

John was stiff in his arms, and Rodney suddenly realised his hands had settled on John's back. "Oh crap, sorry, sorry," he babbled, shifting them quickly up to John's shoulders. It made the hug a little more awkward, but Rodney was determined to persevere.

"Don't _ever_ think you can make decisions about this for me," he admonished in John's ear. "Because I won't ever accept them."

But John was still tense, and Rodney sighed. He drew back, looked John firmly in the eye for a moment, leaned in…

…and suddenly found himself reeling backwards across the room, only narrowly avoiding falling on his ass as he struggled to keep his balance.

"What the hell are you doing?" he squawked.

"What the hell am I doing? What the hell are _you_ doing?" John all but shouted, his expression shocked and – Rodney blinked – disgusted?

"It's called a kiss, you moron! What did you think I was doing? Carson's clearly let you out of the infirmary way too early if you can't recognise _that_."

"But why would you do that?" John looked like he was contemplating wiping his mouth with the back of hand, even though their lips hadn't even connected.

"Hello? Did Carson give you stupid drugs this morning or something? You and me. Me and you? Ringing any bells? God, anyone would think you'd forgotten all about…"

A trickle of ice slid down his spine, and he just looked at John for a long moment, his mouth hanging open slightly. Then, "Oh my god," he whispered. "You have, haven't you? You don't…what did they _do_ to you?"

"McKay, I really have got no idea what you're talking about, but I think you'd better leave, right now."

John's voice was as cold as the feeling in Rodney's stomach, and Rodney could only nod dumbly. "Yes, I've got to…" He stumbled backwards again, this time under his own steam, hearing the door swish open again behind him.

But once in the corridor, he had to stop and lean against a pillar, taking harsh breaths as he tried to stop himself from shaking. Then, when he finally felt like his wobbly legs could hold him up properly, he hurried away as fast as he could.

*~*~*~*~*

"This is the problem, right here."

Carson pointed to an area on the brain scan that looked no different to the rest of the frankly psychedelic image, and Rodney once again cursed the ridiculous voodoo that they were all forced to rely on to heal them and make them better. Physics had rules he could understand. Medicine was practically guesswork.

"This is the area of the brain that deals with, among other things, memory and recall. As you can see, the scan is currently showing a lot of activity in this area. More than I would expect to see."

Rodney directed a brief glance at John, sitting on the edge of a bed at the other end of the infirmary. He was staring stonily into space, too far away to hear the hushed discussion about him. He'd already protested more than once that there was nothing else wrong with him, but Elizabeth hadn't taken no for an answer, and he'd given in with ill-grace.

"So what does that mean?" Elizabeth asked. Her face was pinched with concern, although she was still wearing her 'leader of Atlantis' persona like a shroud.

"Well, I can't say for certain…"

"Try," Rodney interrupted acidly.

"What I _think_ is going on," Carson continued, glaring at Rodney, "is that some of Colonel Sheppard's memories are being blocked. He hasn't actually _forgotten_ anything – he's just unable to remember certain things."

"It amounts to the same thing, doesn't it?" said Rodney impatiently.

"No, it doesn't, actually," replied Carson calmly. "I believe that the memories are still there within the colonel's brain, he just can't access them on his own." He looked at the scan again. "Whatever the Nimaani did to him, it was very sophisticated."

"What do you mean, 'can't access them on his own'?" Rodney asked suspiciously. For heaven's sake, did they teach obtuseness and beating around the bush at medical school these days?

"I suspect that if someone were to ask him directly about an event contained within one of the memories in question – give him a prompt, as it were – he would then be able to recall it."

Relief flooded through Rodney. "Well, why didn't you just say that before? If that's all I need to do, I'll prompt him until the cows come home!"

"No, Rodney." Carson laid a hand on his arm, restraining him as he tried to turn around and make his way over to John. "It's not that simple, I'm afraid."

"What? What do you mean?"

"It's part of what makes the Nimaani technique so sophisticated. Colonel Sheppard would be able to remember the event, but he wouldn't recognise its significance."

Rodney glared. "Carson, if you don't explain exactly what you mean in the next five seconds…"

Now Elizabeth was the one placing a restraining hand on his arm, but when Rodney looked at her all he saw was the sympathy in her eyes. He looked away quickly.

"Let me give you an example," Carson was saying. "Imagine you asked me to remember that there were corn muffins in the mess hall at breakfast this morning. I _would_ remember seeing them, but because I didn't have any myself, and no one I sat with did either, it's just a transient memory, holding no particular meaning for me. As soon as I started thinking about something else, I'd lose my grip on that memory, and it would be sent to whatever tiny corner of my brain such useless information is stored in."

He paused, and then smiled reassuringly. "Now of course I'm not assigning Colonel Sheppard's memories of your…relationship the same status as a basket of corn muffins, but the way his brain will deal with those memories will be similar. They'll just be 'something that happened', and as soon as he stops thinking about it he'll lose his grip on it, unless someone asks him about them again."

"Oh." Rodney felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Everything special that he and John had shared was now no more important to John than breakfast food. It might almost have been better if he'd forgotten altogether.

"Of course, I do believe that there is also an element of permanent memory blocking involved in the process," Carson added, suddenly looking faintly embarrassed. "I'm sure there must be certain, er, aspects of Rodney and the colonel's relationship that cannot be 'spun' into anything more mundane. Those would have to be completely blocked if the Nimaani wished to make Colonel Sheppard forget his relationship, and indeed alter his whole outlook on that type of human interaction."

"So I didn't imagine that part then?" said Rodney miserably. "It's not just that he's forgotten. It's that he doesn't want it at all any more. He thinks it's…wrong."

"Yes, that's correct," said Carson softly. "I'm sorry, Rodney."

The sympathy was too much. Rodney gathered himself for a last ditch attempt. "You can't prove any of this, though, can you?" he retorted. "I mean, you're only theorising what the pretty colours on your silly picture mean. And have you actually tested this prompting thing? You wouldn't know what to ask him, after all."

"That's true," Carson admitted. "But I think we've already seen some evidence of it, when Dr. Weir asked the colonel about what happened to him on M3X-587. He said that he was 'shoved into a room and told to think about what he'd done'. I suspect there's an element of truth in that. I think he was put in a room, and he _was_ told to think about that aspect of his personality. It's quite possible that that was part of the process used by the Nimaani to effect their manipulation of his memories, although I've no doubt it was a little more complex than just that. But naturally, that's the only part they'd want him to remember, so they adjusted his recall of the memory accordingly."

"But you still don't _know_," Rodney pleaded. "He might be…

"_He_ is standing right here, and _he_ would like to know what the hell is going on!"

John had apparently got tired of waiting around while they finished their conference, and Rodney felt a momentary guilt as he glowered at the three of them. This was John's mind, John's _life_ they were discussing, after all. Only the fact that his condition would likely have a significant affect on Atlantis and his ability to command the city's military was allowing Rodney and Elizabeth to be privy to the discussion at all.

"I'm sorry, John," Elizabeth said softly. "I'm afraid we have bad news."

"I feel fine," said John stubbornly, for about the tenth time in the last hour.

"Well, unfortunately, you're not fine, Colonel," said Carson. He gave John a brief explanation of his findings, during which John's expression got more and more disbelieving, until finally he interrupted.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!" he protested. His eyes slid momentarily to Rodney, but then just as quickly slid away again. "I don't believe you. Even supposing I would _ever_ have wanted something like that to happen, I can assure you, I'd remember it. I think I'd notice the sudden appearance of massive gaps in my memory."

"But as I said, Colonel, they wouldn't register as large gaps in your memory. That's how good the Nimaani technique is…"

"Do you remember the last time we had beers together on the pier?" Rodney asked suddenly, desperately.

There was a momentary pause in which he could almost hear John's brain working to access the memory, and then John nodded.

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" He gave Rodney a look. "Not that there was anything special about it."

"Oh." Rodney thought back to the day in question. It had only been a few days before the mission to M3X-587, at the end of a busy week in which he and John had hardly seen each other except on their missions. Objectively, he supposed, it _hadn't_ been that special – just a few beers on their favourite spot on the pier, Atlantis spread out in front of them, feeling the warmth of each other bodies as they sat side by side.

Except it _had_ been special. Every such occasional was special. Busy weeks, busy months, busy _years_ were common in Atlantis, and Rodney had treasured every moment they'd had just to relax and be with each other. And he knew that John had too.

"Oh," he said again. And then, in a smaller voice, "Fair enough."

So that was it, then. Carson was right.

John was speaking to Carson, apparently unaware of Rodney's distress. "See, I'm perfectly fine. No memory loss here."

But Carson was shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Colonel, but I can't agree. You may not realise it, but the Nimaani _have_ done something to you."

"You've been compromised, John," Elizabeth put in gently. "It's the truth."

Frustration twisted John's features briefly. "But I don't feel like anything's wrong with me," he said plaintively. "Well, not with my head, anyway."

"Don't worry, Colonel, I'll do everything in my power to reverse this," Carson said.

"We will, John," Elizabeth added. "I promise."

"But what if I don't want it reversed?" said John suddenly. "I'm still not admitting there's anything wrong with me, but you're telling me that if you did hypothetically fix it, I'd suddenly want to be in a relationship with…with McKay here. A _more_ than friendly relationship," he added, emphasising his point.

"You would remember that, yes," Carson confirmed.

"But I _don't_ want that. That's…"

"Wrong," Rodney said softly, lifting his eyes from his miserable contemplation of the floor. "Disgusting? Perverted? Blasphemous?" His voice rose on every word, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Elizabeth flinch slightly. "Well, I'm sorry if you find my lifestyle choice so despicable, Colonel, but although you may not believe it, it was yours too!"

He knew he was losing it. He knew John's current attitude wasn't John's fault. But hearing John saying those things was almost more than he could bear. Dimly, he was aware of Elizabeth trying to comfort him, pointing out to both him and John that John's reaction was another product of the Nimaani manipulation of John's mind. But he wasn't really listening. All he could focus on was the disdain and disgust on John's face, and he desperately tried to think of a way to wipe them both away.

"Fuck this," said John abruptly, the curse cutting through everything. "I won't stay here and listen to this, this…crap."

"John, please…" Elizabeth's voice was pleading.

"No." John stepped back quickly, out of reach of her hand. "Just leave me alone. He sent a poisonous glare at Rodney. "_All_ of you."

"Let him go," said Carson quietly, as John stormed away. "He needs time to get his head around this."

Elizabeth's professional mask had slipped for once, and she merely nodded, her eyes wide.

"He's not the only one," Rodney muttered, and two pairs of eyes flickered towards him.

"I meant what I said, Rodney," Carson said. "I'll do everything I can to reverse this."

"_We_," Rodney snapped suddenly. "_We'll_ do everything we can." He glared at Carson's surprised look. "What? Do you think I'm going to entrust something so important completely to you and your voodoo? I don't _think_ so."

"Rodney…" Elizabeth began.

"I don't need your sympathy," he snarled. "I need to fix this." He clenched his fists tightly. "I _will_ fix this."

*~*~*~*~*

Teyla felt the cool rush of the wormhole, and then she was emerging in the gate room, Ronon at her shoulder and Elizabeth walking towards them both.

"Well?" Elizabeth asked. "Did you find anything out?"

The hope in her eyes was such that Teyla hated to extinguish it, but she had no choice. She shook her head gently, as Ronon said, "Nothing."

Elizabeth looked momentarily upset by that, but she covered it well, and then smiled. "Perhaps we can discuss this further in my office?" She gestured, and Teyla nodded again.

When they were all seated in the office, Elizabeth leaned forward eagerly over her desk. "Tell me what happened."

"Not a whole lot," Ronon said succinctly, and Teyla shot him an annoyed look. He just looked back at her, as if challenging her to disagree, and she sighed.

"Ronon is right," she acknowledged. "Not much occurred. We were greeted by Seldan again at the meeting point halfway between the Stargate and the city, and although he was courteous, he made it most clear that we were not welcome on Nimaan any more."

"What about what they did to John?" Elizabeth asked. "Did they tell you anything about that?"

"They did not," Teyla was forced to say. "I asked, but Seldan was not forthcoming. All he would say was that Colonel Sheppard's punishment was deserved, and that he hoped he would lead a better, _purer_ life from now on."

"So he wouldn't tell you anything about what device or methods they used on John?"

"No, I am afraid not."

Beside her, Ronon snorted softly, and Teyla resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Ronon here believes we should have employed other…techniques to extract the information from Seldan," she said.

Elizabeth looked startled at that, and stared at Ronon in alarm. "I hope you didn't…?"

"Nope," replied Ronon, although his expression said he regretted the missed opportunity. "Teyla said it wouldn't be a good idea."

"And she was right," Elizabeth snapped. Then she softened her voice. "We cannot afford to make more of an enemy of the Nimaani than we already have done. And somehow I don't think beating up one of their primary officials would have improved matters between our people any."

"No, I suppose not. It would have been fun, though."

Ronon smiled unpleasantly, and Elizabeth looked like she was trying not to laugh. Then she sighed and turned her attention back to Teyla.

"So there's no hope, then? Perhaps if I were to go, and speak to this Seldan, and perhaps Justice Davos, myself?"

"I do not believe that would do any good," Teyla responded. "I do not think it prudent to put any more of your people in the way of the Nimaani. They may see it as an opportunity to try and push more of their ways on to you. At least Ronon and I had the benefit of being known quantities. The Nimaani had already decided we were no direct threat to their way of lives."

"That doesn't mean they wouldn't have taken it into their heads to try and 'fix' you in some way too," Elizabeth pointed out.

"No," Teyla acknowledged. "Still, I believe that our position was stronger than yours would be. I do not think you should risk it."

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, and then nodded reluctantly. "You're probably right," she said. "It doesn't seem like they're going to give up any information anyway. At this point I would say that the less we have to do with them, the better. We're just going to have to rely on our own ingenuity to help John on this one."

"Speaking of ingenuity, where is Rodney?" Teyla asked. "I would have expected him to be here to find out if we had discovered anything."

"He's in his lab," Elizabeth replied. "He's determined to fix this – all on his own if need be. I've tried to talk to him, but he doesn't want to hear it. I think this has hit him even harder than he wants to let on."

"Not surprising," Ronon said. "He and Sheppard are as thick as thieves most of the time."

"It is always hard to lose a loved one," Teyla said softly. "Particularly when they are in fact _not_ lost, and you still have cope with their presence every day."

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Elizabeth stood. "I should go and see him," she said. "Tell him the outcome of your trip. And then I need to see Carson. And John."

She looked at Teyla, and then at Ronon. "Thank you for going," she said. "Even if your labours didn't bear much fruit."

"We will do anything we can to help," Teyla replied. "John and Rodney are very dear friends to us."

"They're like family," Ronon added bluntly. "Although I never thought I'd hear myself say that about McKay."

Elizabeth smiled a little at that, and then she gestured for Teyla and Ronon to leave the office ahead of her. "I'm sure they'll both be very happy to know that."

*~*~*~*~*

"What? But…but you can't!"

John stared at Elizabeth in consternation. How on earth could she be doing this to him? It wasn't necessary. It was in _no way_ necessary.

"I'm sorry, John," Elizabeth was saying. "But you've been compromised. You're not fit to lead your team at the moment."

"But I'm fine," he protested, and then winced as his back twinged, giving the lie to his words. "Well, okay maybe not fine," he admitted, as Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, okay, I can't go off-world and run missions until my back's healed, but after that…well, no problem."

"I hope you're right, John, I really do," Elizabeth said. "I hope that by then we'll have worked out how to reverse what the Nimaani did to you, and as you say, you'll be fine. But if not…"

"There's nothing wrong with my head!" John all but shouted. In a corner of his mind he was aware that he wasn't exactly putting on the best performance to convince Elizabeth of that, but he was sick of being told that he'd been brainwashed or something when he was perfectly all right. "I don't feel like anything's missing, and I can tell you that I won't suddenly crack up in the field, if that's what you're worried about."

"I _am_ worried about that," Elizabeth said, steel suddenly colouring her voice. "And frankly, John, this denial of your condition has us all concerned. You may not believe you've been compromised, but I would have expected a greater degree of trust in your friends and colleagues when they tell you that you _have_."

John crossed his arms and stared at her stubbornly.

"Dr. Beckett's speculated that it's a function of what the Nimaani did to you," Elizabeth continued relentlessly. "It might be another way they make sure their mind alterations stay in place. But whatever the reason, it means that I can't let you remain on duty, John. We still need to figure this out."

"But…"

"I'm sorry, but this is the way it has to be." Elizabeth overruled his protest. "Believe me when I tell you that you're in no position to judge your current mental state. You're just going to have to trust what I, and Carson, and Rodney are telling you. Let's us help you, John," she finished softly.

John felt himself slump a little. "Fine," he muttered, knowing he sounded sulky, but not really caring. "But can I ask you one thing?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"Can we not tell anyone the reason that you've grounded me? I don't want to be the subject of gossip and rumour."

"We have to say something, John," Elizabeth replied. Then she held up a hand to stall John's renewed protest. "But we will say as little as possible. Nothing of a personal nature will be revealed about you or Dr. McKay. The knowledge will remain confidential." She hesitated. "I have two conditions though," she added, and John's heart sank.

"Let's hear it," he muttered.

"I want you to start seeing Dr. Heightmeyer, talk to her about this. I know you think there's nothing wrong with you that Carson's tender mercies and a few weeks of rest won't cure, but that's precisely why you need to talk to her. If nothing else, you've been through a traumatic physical experience. The fallout from that won't go away just because you start playing the big tough colonel."

John thought about protesting – really, the last thing he needed was Heightmeyer poking around in his psyche. But the implacable look on Elizabeth's face told him he didn't have a hope of getting out of it, and he wrote off the battle as unwinnable. "Fine. I'll talk to Heightmeyer. What's the second condition?"

"That we tell Major Lorne the reason for you being out of commission," said Elizabeth. "It will be necessary for him to have all the information, as he'll have to take over temporarily as military commander of Atlantis."

John grimaced, but then nodded. "Okay. I suppose that's necessary."

Elizabeth looked at him sympathetically. "I don't think he'll judge you," she said. "No one here is judging you, John. And I don't think there are many who would if they found out in any case."

"There's nothing to judge," John insisted stiffly. He really wished people would stop saying things like that.

"Of course not," Elizabeth assured him, but he sensed that the words meant something different to her than to him, and despite his certainty that he was fine, he couldn't stop the prickle of unease that ran down his spine.

He mentally shook it away. There was nothing wrong with him that a few weeks healing time wouldn't fix, and he was determined to prove it to everyone if it killed him.

*~*~*~*~*

Leaning on the balcony overlooking the gateroom, John stared disconsolately down at the inactive Stargate. He'd only been grounded for a week, and he was already going stir crazy.

Rationally, he knew that he was still in no fit state for active duty. His back was still healing, even if Beckett had made encouraging noises about his progress at his last check-up, and while he chafed at the restrictions to his movement and normal activities as much as his shirt chafed against the exposed scabbing on his back, he knew there was no use arguing with the good doctor about it.

But then, it wasn't really his physical injuries that were the problem. It was the fact that, even when _they_ had healed, he _still_ wouldn't be allowed to resume his normal life. Not unless he could convince Elizabeth and Beckett and the others that they were kicking up a fuss about nothing.

And the chances of that happening were getting slimmer by the day. Only that morning he'd been to see Elizabeth to plead his case, but she was as immovable as a very large rock on the subject. She'd obviously been getting updates from Dr. Heightmeyer on his sessions with her, and despite the fact that he'd done his best to be polite to Atlantis's resident shrink, he suspected that his unforthcoming responses to Heightmeyer wouldn't have particularly impressed Elizabeth.

Although how he was supposed to respond when she kept asking him about something that had _never happened_, he wasn't quite sure.

The only concession he'd won from Elizabeth was her no doubt generous, from her point-of-view anyway, granting of permission to take up some of his Atlantis-bound duties again. As if paperwork and team rosters even came close to what he was missing. Perhaps she imagined that if he had something to fill his time with, he'd stop protesting his fate quite so much.

No, what he really wanted was to get the hell out of here. He loved Atlantis, but even a gilded cage was still a cage, and he was beginning to feel an itch under his skin that had nothing to do with his healing wounds. The need to be out there, to be flying, to be _doing_ something.

He suspected it was an itch that wouldn't be scratched any time soon. And that only made it worse.

"Unscheduled off-world activation!"

Chuck's voice rang out from the control room as the Stargate's chevrons started to light up, and the shield activated in response to the incoming wormhole.

"Receiving Major Lorne's IDC."

Seconds later the shield shimmered off again, and John straightened up as a group of people emerged from the wormhole's event horizon – Lorne's team plus Dr. McKay. McKay was cradling an arm in front of his chest, but otherwise everyone appeared to be fine.

"Rodney! What happened?"

John looked to his left and saw that Elizabeth had emerged from her office and was standing on the bridge that connected it to the control room, also looking down at the returned team.

Lorne raised his voice slightly to answer her. "The Ancient device on the planet malfunctioned."

"Damn thing practically blew up in my face," McKay complained. "I wouldn't be surprised if I need a skin graft or something." He held out his arm momentarily, and John saw that the skin there was red and inflamed.

Elizabeth looked concerned, but also amused. "Get yourself to the infirmary, Rodney, and have Carson take a look at it," she said.

"I will," McKay replied, "just as soon as I've gone into the Ancient database and noted that M7R-134 is 'a complete waste of time and effort'."

"So the device was a no-go even before it malfunctioned, then?"

"I couldn't even work out what its original function might have been," McKay admitted. "It looked like it had been cannibalised for parts, and there's no way to know what we'd need in the way of replacements." He grimaced. "Of course, I didn't realise that until after it tried to fry me. In fact, I'm surprised there was enough of it left to create that much of a discharge."

"All right. Thank you for trying anyway. Now, off you go to the infirmary. _Then_ you can make your notations in the database. _And_ write your report."

Smiling, Elizabeth retreated to her office once more. Below, McKay had withdrawn his arm and was clutching it to him again. Lorne patted him sympathetically on the shoulder, and then tried to steer him in the direction of the infirmary.

But McKay appeared to have sensed a second pair of eyes on him, and he turned a little and looked up again, his gaze alighting on John standing on the balcony.

John stared back for a couple of seconds, and then turned away. He had paperwork to be getting on with.

*~*~*~*~*

Rodney sat at the desk in his quarters, his laptop screensaver scrolling away unnoticed in front of him, the fingers of his right hand absentmindedly worrying at the dressing on his left forearm as he lost himself in his thoughts.

He couldn't get the look on John's face in the gateroom out of his head. Or rather, the _lack_ of a look. No concern, no fear, not even a teasing eye roll about the fact that Rodney had managed to get himself injured _again_. There had been…nothing. As if Rodney was just any one of Atlantis's many personnel, and not someone…well, someone special.

But, of course, he _wasn't_ someone special any more, he reminded himself bitterly. Not to John, anyway. Not now that John was someone completely different.

At first he'd thought he could just snap John out of it. He'd entertained ideas of simply going to John's quarters and shaking him until the memories rattled loose and he was forced to admit the truth.

Then he'd decided that if he could just bombard John with enough memories, he'd remember. He didn't care what Carson had said – surely if he tried hard enough something would catch hold in John's mind. All it would take would be the smallest trigger, Rodney was certain.

To that end, he'd sat down and started to write a list of all the important events so far in their relationship, starting with 'The first time we kissed', and following on with 'The first time we had sex', 'The first time you made me dinner' (well, actually, John had scrounged everything from the mess, but Rodney had been touched all the same), etcetera. He'd got as far as 'The first time I let you win at chess because I realised it would make you happy' before he'd come to his senses and realised he was clutching at straws.

After that he'd turned his mind to formulating a _proper_ plan of attack, reading everything he could on how the memory and mind worked (even going so far as to consult with Carson on a few matters, although it had stuck in his throat to admit his need for the doctor's voodoo expertise), and investigating the Ancient database as thoroughly as he could for any mention of technology in Atlantis that might aid him.

But all that was taking much longer than he'd anticipated, even with the fact that he'd been neglecting his other work as much as he dared to focus on the problem. And then today he'd been forced to put his research to one side for a while, when Elizabeth insisted that he accompany Major Lorne's team to M7R-134 to investigate the Ancient device the preliminary recon mission had discovered.

Which of course had promptly tried to kill him.

Rodney winced as his wandering fingers prodded rather too hard at his arm, and the burn underneath the gauze protested.

And wasn't that just another thing he could blame the Nimaani for? With John out of commission, the remaining members of the team were being pimped out to the other off-world teams, as their skills required. Teyla was helping on trading and diplomatic missions, while Ronon was being seconded to any team that required a big gun with some muscle behind it. And Rodney was apparently being sent to check out anything that looked even the tiniest bit technological or scientific.

He'd tried to tell Elizabeth before today's mission that it was a waste of his time – an assertion that had only been proved correct when he'd seen the device on M7R-134 and immediately determined that it was broken beyond all repair. Third degree electrical burns tended to be a good indication of that kind of thing, and of course as a result he'd received yet another lecture from Carson about being more careful in future.

But all the way through the lecture, and the cleaning, and the bandaging, he hadn't been able to get John's expression out of his mind. And he'd realised suddenly that he'd been kidding himself.

He hadn't really believed that John's condition was permanent. He'd been expecting John to turn up at his lab, or his quarters one day, and declare that he'd simply woken up that morning and remembered. He'd been _expecting_ John to fight against what had been done to him, to _want_ to be cured.

But now Rodney knew better. John didn't want to fight. John didn't know that he _had_ to fight. The John he knew was being smothered under a veneer of morals and values that would have horrified him only two short weeks ago.

And that meant that it really _was_ up to Rodney. He had to fight for both of them.

Suddenly determined, Rodney stood up, ashamed of himself for moping. There were still hours left in the day, and that meant he still had time for research. There had to be something in this city, in this _galaxy_ that he could use to help John. He just had to find it.

*~*~*~*~*

Stretching gingerly, John felt the pull of the healing skin on his back, and decided to take it easy. He knew Beckett would approve – the doctor had finally sanctioned some gentle exercise for John, but hadn't been shy about emphasising the _gentle_ aspect of it. John supposed it made sense, and in any case, he was determined that he would be sensible about his recovery – it was the only way he could think of at the moment to prove he wasn't cracking up.

Next to him, Ronon was leaning against the wall, waiting patiently. The other thing Beckett had insisted on was a running partner, just in case (just in case of what, John still wasn't too sure). But since John had been running with Ronon almost since the other man had joined his team, that instruction wasn't really a problem either.

Finishing his stretches, John started a slow jog on the spot, trying to loosen up a bit. He had other reasons for being glad he now had an outlet for his restlessness, restricted though it was. The itch was getting worse and it had started to affect things other than just his general peace of mind. His connection with Atlantis had felt off lately – well, if he was honest with himself, pretty much since he'd woken up in the infirmary after M3X-587. It wasn't that anything had gone _wrong_, as such – doors still opened and lights still came on, after all. He just couldn't shake the feeling that it was all happening _grudgingly_, as if Atlantis didn't feel he deserved to walk into a well-lit room. Or as if something was running interference between them. It was like he was struggling to get through to the city. Or the city was struggling to get through to _him_.

He needed something to distract himself, and paperwork wasn't going to do it. And neither were movies, books, or golf on the east pier. Running had always been his way of switching off from his problems, and he was hoping it would work again this time.

"Come on, let's go."

Ronon nodded and together they started a slow, steady pace. It was almost like a switch had been flicked. John could feel his mind and body relaxing into the easy rhythm. This was definitely what he needed.

"So when are you going to stop avoiding McKay?"

He nearly stumbled. "Jeez, don't beat around the bush or anything, will you, buddy?"

Ronon just subjected him to The Silence, which was more compelling than the worst torture in the world when it came to making people talk, and which only Teyla was better at than the man running at John's side.

Nevertheless, John tried very hard to resist, picking up the pace a little even though he could picture Beckett's frown in his head, and attempting to outdistance Ronon.

No such luck. John couldn't leave Ronon in his dust even when he was at the peak of his fitness. Which he certainly wasn't at the moment.

Sighing, he gave in. Sort of. "I'm not avoiding McKay," he muttered.

"Are."

"I'm not! I'm just…very busy, that's all."

"With paperwork." Ronon sounded sceptical.

"Yes! You'd be amazed at how much time paperwork takes when you don't delegate it to your underlings."

"Uh huh."

Ronon could convey more with just a grunt than the finest orator could with a perfectly honed speech. John stopped abruptly, and turned to face his running partner, his hands on his hips.

"I don't see him searching me out either, you know." In a corner of his mind he was aware that he'd just confirmed Ronon's suspicions, but right now he was too annoyed to care. He got enough bloody psychoanalysis in his sessions with Heightmeyer – he didn't need it from someone he could normally rely on to recognise the benefits of silence.

"And why do you think that is?" Ronon enquired mildly. Now John was being treated to The Eyebrow, and it pissed him off even more.

"How should I know? You know what McKay's like – he'd never leave that lab if someone didn't drag him out of there."

Too late he saw the trap.

"That'd normally be you, wouldn't it? Doing the dragging?"

John threw up his hands. "I'm not his damn keeper!"

The Eyebrow became more pointed, although it was accompanied by a sympathetic look that was rather out of place on Ronon's face.

"Look, Sheppard, I get it. People are telling you one thing, your brain's telling you another, and you don't know which to believe. Doesn't mean you should take it out on McKay. It's not his fault. He's supposed to be your friend, isn't he? At the very least."

John's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ronon was unconcerned. "You know what it means."

There was a moment of silence while John tried to figure out how to respond to that, but he couldn't think of anything except to start running again. Behind him he heard Ronon following, and wondered if he'd be able to dart into the next transporter they passed and get away before he was caught.

But Ronon, having apparently made his point, seemed to content to remain silent for the rest of their run, and stubbornly John tried to put their conversation out of his mind and concentrate solely on the demands of his weakened body.

*~*~*~*~*

Speak of the devil, and he will appear.

When John entered the mess hall, he was hoping the main lunch rush would have died down. And yes, the place _was_ a lot emptier than it would have been an hour earlier, with most of the people there sitting alone, grabbing a hurried bite in between duties, or burying their head in papers or books as they ate.

Including one Dr. Rodney McKay.

John stopped short in the doorway, and then, remembering his earlier conversation with Ronon, squared his shoulders determinedly and headed for the food table, keeping an eye on McKay as he went.

The scientist didn't appear to have noticed him, in any case. In fact, he seemed singularly oblivious to any of the comings and goings in the mess hall, his attention apparently riveted to the laptop he had on the table in front of him as he picked absently at his food.

Loading up a tray with a sandwich, an unidentified variety of Pegasus fruit, and glass of water, John moved over to the window and sat down. And if his table was at the opposite end of the mess to McKay's, well, so what? John had picked the window seat so he could look at the view while he ate – something that also had the added benefit of doubling as a metaphorical 'Do Not Disturb' sign.

John wasn't avoiding McKay – no matter what certain people might think – he just didn't particularly want to socialise with anyone right now.

His ruse worked, and no one approached him. The sandwich was a bit dry around the edges, and the water had that slightly tangy aftertaste that resulted from being processed through Atlantis's desalination plant. But the fruit was a pleasant surprise, with a flavour that fell somewhere between a pineapple and a mango, although it looked more like an incredibly unripe banana. John was just finishing off the last mouthful, and making a mental note to ask Teyla or Ronon what exactly it was, when a shadow fell across the table.

He looked up to find McKay standing there, and suddenly wondered why he hadn't thought to eat lunch in his office.

"Colonel, I need you in the lab this afternoon."

"Hi, McKay, nice to see you too," John responded wryly.

The flash of pain across McKay's face was there and gone so quickly that John wondered if he'd really seen it. But it was enough to remind him of the current weirdness between them, and the claims McKay had made about him, about _them_, and he suddenly found himself looking for avenues of escape.

Meanwhile, McKay was rallying somewhat. "Yes, yes, pleasantries, whatever," he was saying. "Can we assume we've done all that and get to the point, please? Namely you, in the lab, this afternoon. ATA gene attendance mandatory."

"Sorry, McKay, busy this afternoon," John said, imagining the other diners' reactions if he were to suddenly leap over the table and bolt for the exit. Surely he could claim an emergency that couldn't wait?

"Busy with what, exactly?" McKay said, the withering tone not quite enough to cover the renewed hurt. Still, John knew that his paperwork excuse was about to be ridiculed again. Really, didn't people understand how long that kind of thing took? Especially when you had a backlog like John did.

"Important military stuff," he replied snidely.

"Yeah, right," McKay snapped back. "Playing with your guns doesn't count. Anyway, whatever it is, it'll have to wait. Zelenka and his team have brought back something from a lab on the west pier, and no one can get it to do much more than flicker pitifully, whether their gene is naturally occurring or artificial. We need your 'Midas touch'."

He wouldn't look to see if McKay was doing air quotes – he _wouldn't_. John fixed his gaze on the view outside the window in what he hoped was a 'bored of this conversation' manner, and waved McKay away. "Sorry, but I really can't right now…"

"And don't try to get out of it, because I've already got Elizabeth's go ahead," interrupted McKay, with the air of someone playing their trump card.

Now John did look at him, annoyance clear in his glare. "You went over my head to Elizabeth?" he asked angrily. For crying out loud, did being suspended from active duty mean he'd turned into everyone's errand boy or doormat now? He might not be the acting incumbent at the moment, but at the end of the day he _was_ still Atlantis's military commander.

"Yes, I did," McKay replied, sticking his chin out belligerently. "Believe me when I say, Colonel, that the last thing I want to do is waste my afternoon messing about with Zelenka's toy, but you're not the only one Elizabeth's put her foot down to." He gave John an indefinable look, and then turned away, muttering something about having "much more important things to work on."

John stood, still annoyed, his chair scraping loudly across the floor and drawing one or two glances from the people left in the mess hall. "Fine," he said heavily. "I'm coming. Let's get this over with, and then we can both go back to our more important things."

*~*~*~*~*

By the time they reached his lab, Rodney was cursing Carson for having decided to take a jaunt over to the mainland on today of all days. Why was Atlantis's chief medial officer required to give simple flu shots, or whatever the Athosian equivalent was, anyway? A trained monkey could do something so easy. Carson was the only other person apart from Sheppard who had a hope of getting this new device to work, but with him absent, Rodney had been forced to approach John instead.

And he just knew that was going to make for a very awkward afternoon.

"So where is this thing, then?" John asked, as he slouched through the door after Rodney, acting like nothing so much as a sulky teenager in detention.

"It's over there," replied Rodney shortly, wishing he could call John on his behaviour, but for once not quite daring. "Just hang on a second while I review Zelenka's notes, and then you can do your thing."

Out of the corner of his eye he watched John examining the device as he quickly skimmed the notes on his computer. It was a fairly large object, taking up most of the surface of the bench, although Zelenka had reported that two of his science team had been able to carry the thing up from the lab where they'd found it pretty easily. It also appeared to be of fairly simple design – rectangular, with a stubby leg at each corner that raised it about three inches above the surface of the bench. All along the edge currently closest to John were a series of rigid protrusions, nearly thirty in all, and no more than half a centimetre apart. And completing the design was an arrangement on the top of the device that looked suspiciously like a projector of some kind, although what it might project was still a mystery.

"You ready yet?"

John sounded impatient, and Rodney bit back a sarcastic retort. It wasn't like he wanted John around when he was…well, when he was like _this_, after all.

"Yes, go ahead," he replied. "Let's see if Zelenka's actually found anything useful for once."

John inspected the device for a couple of seconds longer, and then reached out and tentatively ran his fingers across several of the protrusions.

There was the tiniest of pauses, and then several things occurred at once. One, the protrusions lit up like a Christmas tree, a pattern of repeating colours that presumably meant something. Two, a heads-up display suddenly appeared, hovering in the air above the device pretty much at John's eye level. And three, a loud, and extremely discordant sound filled the lab, harsh enough to make Rodney clap his hands over his ears, and John snatch his hand back quickly, startled.

"Oh, great, I think I perforated an eardrum," Rodney muttered, as the sound died away and he lowered his hands. He glared at John. "I don't think it likes you, Colonel."

But John didn't appear to be listening. He was leaning towards the device again, examining the heads-up display, and as Rodney's glare diminished into a merely annoyed look, he reached out and pressed a few of the controls next to the projector, changing the contents of the display several times.

"Well, don't keep us all in suspense," Rodney said acidly, after a few moments. "What wondrous and pointless thing do we have on our hands now?"

"I think," said John slowly, still staring at the display, "it's a musical instrument."

"What? You have _got_ to be joking! That noise wasn't anything like music."

"That's because I was doing it wrong," John replied. "Let me try something different."

This time he touched just one of the protrusions, sliding his finger along its length and producing a single note, its tone sweet and clear.

"Oh," said Rodney. "Well, that sounds much better."

"It's the Ancient equivalent of the piano." John touched another protrusion (or maybe 'key' would be a better word, Rodney thought to himself), and a slightly deeper note rang out. "And I think there are compositions stored in its memory for the musician to play. Not that I can make any sense of the Ancients' method of musical notation."

Then he looked at Rodney suddenly. "You want to try it?"

"Me? Why would I want to try it?"

"Well, don't you want to see if it'll recognise you now I've activated it? And besides, you used to play the piano, didn't you?"

"How do you know that?"

"I'm pretty sure you told me, McKay."

"Oh," said Rodney again. "Oh yeah." His musical days had been so long ago, part of his childhood, that he didn't normally tell people about them. But as he thought about it, he now remembered the day when John had found out, albeit by accident…

_Rodney had never been quite sure why he'd bothered to copy the music to his computer. Thinking back, he supposed that, with space for personal belongings at a premium when the Atlantis expedition shipped out that first time, anything that could be stored on a hard drive in the form of ones and zeros seemed like a good use of his allocation._

But he hadn't listened to it at any point after he'd arrived in Atlantis, and truthfully had almost forgotten it was there.

_So he'd been surprised one day to emerge from the bathroom to discover that John had obviously found the file obliquely named 'Compositions', and chosen something from it. Strains of a melody Rodney hadn't thought about in years floated softly round the room, and inexplicably Rodney had felt himself tensing._

"What, couldn't you find any Johnny Cash?" he said snidely, tossing his towel on the bed and fishing a clean shirt out of a drawer.

But John hadn't answered immediately, and Rodney had turned to find a faintly puzzled expression on the other man's face, his head cocked as if he were trying to make sense of what he was hearing.

"What piece is this?" he asked. "I don't recognise it."

"Well, considering you can't recognise Beethoven from Brahms, that's not saying much, is it?"

"No, seriously. There's something about it… And it wasn't stored with the rest of your music files, either."

Rodney sighed. "Fine, okay. It's one of mine. Happy now?"

"One of…? You mean you _composed this?"_

"There's no need to sound so surprised," Rodney huffed, suddenly nettled. "I'll have you know I could have been a musical genius. Except…" He faltered.

"Except what?" John still looked like he was trying to figure out the music, and for some reason it only made Rodney more annoyed.

"Because my teacher said I had no feel for it, okay?" he snapped. "Apparently I was too clinical a player."

John had looked at him then. "Well, your teacher was talking crap," he said bluntly. "I may not be a musical genius, or know my Beethoven from my Brahms, but I do know that this is good. Really _good, Rodney."_

"Yes, well, I wasn't willing to listen to him either, at first," Rodney said. "I was only a kid, but I was determined to prove him wrong, and started composing my own stuff in my spare time."

"Wait, how old were you when you wrote this?"

Rodney shrugged. "Thirteen, maybe? Fourteen? I can't really remember."

John had laughed suddenly. "That's my McKay, ever the prodigy." He'd come to Rodney then, sliding his arms around him and bending his head to mouth at the side of Rodney's neck. "It really is _good," he said. "It even sounds like you. That's what the something is."_

John had insisted on listening to the whole collection after that, although Rodney had asked him to stop making a big deal of it. That chapter of his life was closed, after all, and he was happy with his decision to follow science instead of the arts.

The memory was a sweet one, but that was hardly what was exciting Rodney right now. John had remembered it – albeit obviously in an edited form – without someone having to ask him about it. The memory had been prompted by something other than a direct question. Maybe this was progress. Maybe this meant…

"McKay. You going to try it or what?" John's impatience was back, and Rodney's excitement dimmed a bit. Clearly the memory hadn't triggered anything in John other than a simple correlation between that day and this. Still, it was something to work with…later.

"Oh, all right then," he said, trying to focus on the task at hand. "I'll have a look at it."

Rodney walked over to the instrument and ran his eyes over it. He knew he wouldn't be able to play a tune, as such – as John had indicated, it would take some translation and interpretation before anyone would be able to understand the Ancients' compositions – so he decided to just try something simple. But as he reached for the keys, he heard John say, "Wait."

He drew his hands back quickly. "What? Is something wrong?"

Then he realised that John's eyes were fixed on the dressing covering the burn on his left arm. His own eyes dropped to the injury. "Oh, that."

"How's it doing?" John asked awkwardly.

"Fine, fine," replied Rodney. "Apparently it's not that bad – should be right as rain in a few days."

"Oh. Well, good."

"How are your, er, injuries?" Rodney enquired in return, suddenly uncomfortably aware that he hadn't asked John about his progress at all since he'd been released from the infirmary. Not that that was really his fault, he defended himself silently.

"Oh, not too bad," John said, his downplaying so obvious that Rodney nearly called him on it. "Beckett actually let me go running with Ronon this morning. Although it was more of a slow jog, actually."

"Good. That's…good."

The ensuing silence was uncomfortable, and Rodney quickly turned back to the Ancient piano, suddenly anxious to change the subject. "Well, let's see what I can do with this then, shall we?"

Laying his fingers softly on the instrument, he tried a simple scale, stroking several of the keys one after the other until the air was filled with the vibration of the overlapping notes, the sound somehow clearer and more resonant than that of a regular piano, and very pleasing to the ear.

"Still got it, McKay," John said. His tone was artificially light, but Rodney still nodded, absurdly pleased.

"Maybe if you learned how to play it properly, you could give lessons."

Rodney snorted. "And in what free time would I do that, exactly?"

"Ah. Okay, fair point. But it seems a shame to let something so good go to waste."

Was John talking about the piano, or Rodney's skill? Sternly Rodney told himself it was the former, it was _obviously_ the former. He shouldn't read anything into the remark.

"Well, maybe you should learn to play it, then, if it's that important to you," he shot back. "Although if your first performance was anything to go by…"

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm _very_ musical."

"Yeah, right. You forget, I'm well aware of your taste in 'music'."

"Okay, now I'm offended on Johnny Cash's behalf. Maybe I _will_ learn to play this thing, that'd show you."

"I won't hold my breath."

"And then, when you've acknowledged that I am a musical genius after all, we could play duets."

And just like that, reality came crashing back.

Rodney turned away quickly to hide his reaction, hurrying back to his computer and his notes. When he dared to look up again, a few moments later, John's expression was closed and blank, and he was standing stiffly in the middle of the room.

"So, that everything then?" John asked, clearly desperate to leave.

And Rodney couldn't think of any reason to keep him there. Moreover, he didn't _want_ a reason to keep him there. So he nodded quickly and gestured towards the door. "Yes, that's it. Now the device is activated, I can set some other people to work on figuring it out properly."

He tried not to notice how John all but ran out of the lab.

*~*~*~*~*

"No! No, no, no, no, no, no, _no!_ Are you trying to blow the place to bits? Put that down and step away slowly before you get us all killed!"

The hapless scientist – Porter or Potter, or something like that – quailed under the force of Rodney's ire, and quickly dropped the control crystal on to the edge of the tray before backing up hurriedly.

"Honestly, I am _surrounded_ by imbeciles! It's a miracle Atlantis is still in one piece, since Earth only appears to be sending us the dregs of the scientific community."

"Rodney…" Zelenka came towards him, hands outstretched calmingly. "I do not think…"

"That's right, you don't think! None of you think! In fact, I've lost count of the number of times I've had to bail you all out because you _don't think!_"

"Rodney!" Zelenka sounded a little pissed now. "Nothing has happened. Atlantis is in one piece, and no one is dead. Calm down! Perhaps you should take a break? We can handle this."

"Hello? Am I talking to myself here? Have we not just established that you are all idiots? And that if left to his own devices, he," he pointed at Porter or Potter, "will kill us all."

Porter or Potter shrank a little bit further in on himself, and Zelenka tutted loudly. "That is it, I am no longer suggesting," he said sternly. "You must take a break, Rodney."

"And who's going to make me?" Rodney countered nastily. "You?"

"No." Zelenka shook his head. "But perhaps I should contact Dr. Weir, yes? Or maybe even Ronon? I am sure he would have no problem removing you from this room."

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't."

"You wish to try me? You think I am bluffing?"

Zelenka's hand moved towards his radio, and Rodney gave in.

"Fine. _Fine._ You win. I'm leaving. But don't any of you come crying to me when Atlantis is lying in pieces on the seabed, and you're all _drowned_."

He stomped loudly as he left the lab, but even so he could still hear the sighs of relief that followed him out the door.

Teyla found him almost an hour later, sitting on the same pier he and John used to frequent when they wanted to get away from it all and share a few beers. She didn't say anything immediately, but simply sat down beside him, dangling her feet over the edge like he was.

The one thing you could always count on Teyla for was comfortable silences rather than awkward ones. Nonetheless, after about five minutes, Rodney felt compelled to speak – he'd never been very good at keeping quiet when there was someone else around to talk to.

"I think I might just have driven half of my science team to suicide," he offered. "Including Zelenka. Not that they didn't deserve it, of course," he added quickly. "But it'll be annoying having to wait for the Daedalus to deliver the next batch of scientists, sub-standard as they'll undoubtedly be."

Teyla raised an eyebrow. "I think you underestimate their powers of resilience," she commented.

"Oh no, just you wait. Porter – or is it Potter? – will be throwing himself off a balcony before the day is out," Rodney predicted gloomily.

"Well, in that case I shall make sure to have a little talk with him after I am done here with you."

Rodney's heart sank. He should have known it was too good to be true. Teyla wanted to have a 'little talk' with him. And since the Spanish Inquisition was more easygoing than her when she had a bee in her bonnet, it wasn't something he was looking forward to.

"Are you all right, Rodney?"

He considered going with the standard response - _yes, I'm fine_ – but he knew she wouldn't believe it for a second. For one thing, he wasn't that good an actor, and for another, it would be about the least true statement in the history of the universe. _Any_ universe.

Perhaps the best way to tackle this was head on. Like ripping off a band-aid. Get it over with as quickly as possible.

"No," he said bluntly.

Teyla's surprise was palpable, and Rodney felt a brief moment of smugness that he'd managed to throw her off her stride. But, being Teyla, she recovered herself quickly, and continued.

"You must not lose hope," she said seriously. "I am sure together you and John can find a way through this."

"Oh, you are, are you?" Rodney responded bitterly. "Together, huh? That's going to be a bit difficult when he can't even stand to be in the same room as me."

"I'm sure that is not the case…"

"Well, I'm sure it _is_," Rodney snapped. He felt a bit bad for taking his anger out on Teyla, but in this instance she really didn't know what she was talking about.

He'd thought there had been a breakthrough the other day, when he and John had been examining the Ancient piano together. It had almost been like old times, sniping and snarking at each other, and enjoying every moment of it. John had remembered something about their past together of his own accord, and Rodney had thought he'd caught a glimpse – only a tiny one, mind you – of the light at the end of the tunnel.

But then, of course, life in the Pegasus Galaxy had flipped him the finger and shot everything down in flames. And ever since John had been avoiding him even more strenuously than before – to the extent that he wouldn't even _look_ at Rodney in briefings and meetings now, unless Elizabeth forced John to talk to him.

"Oh, Rodney…" Teyla's voice was full of sympathy, and when she laid a comforting hand on his arm, Rodney grabbed it and squeezed it before he was even really aware of what he was doing.

"It's just…it's like he's a stranger," he whispered miserably. "And I don't know what to do to get the old John back."

"Have you not been working on some solutions?" Teyla asked.

"Of course I have! I've come up with a hundred ideas and discarded them all. I've trawled the Ancient database looking for information, I've examined every as yet unidentified Ancient device we have lying around, to see if it might provide the answer. And Carson's been trying too, without any success either. He told me that Heightmeyer's even resorted to hypnosis, to try breaking through John's barriers. But apparently that's not working either. I'm completely stumped," he admitted, hating how lost he sounded. "And that just doesn't happen to me. If I can't fix this, then who else is going to?"

"Maybe we could try contacting the Nimaani again?" Teyla suggested. "Now that some time has passed, they may have cause to regret their actions. Maybe they would tell us how they effected this change in John."

"Yeah, right." Rodney laughed bitterly. "And pigs might fly. And besides, if I never see any of them again, it'll be too soon."

Teyla frowned. "They certainly did not behave in the manner I had come to expect from them," she said.

"You're telling me!" Rodney responded. "Where do they get off imposing their stupid morals on the rest of the galaxy anyway? They've got no right. John didn't deserve what they did. He didn't do anything wrong!"

"No, he didn't," Teyla agreed. And then she added, in a softer voice, "And neither did you."

"What?" Rodney turned his head so quickly that he was sure he'd given himself whiplash. "Of course I didn't! What's that supposed to mean?"

"I believe you are feeling guilty, Rodney," Teyla said gently. "Guilty that John was forced to endure this fate while you were not."

"You think I wanted to be subjected to the same fate as him? I don't think so…"

"Of course not. But I believe you _are_ feeling guilty – and yes, angry too – that John has once again sacrificed himself to save someone else. In this case, you."

"Well, it's true, he does need to get over this martyr complex he insists on cultivating…"

"Rodney." Teyla's voice was still gentle, but now it held a hint of steel too. Rodney felt himself crumple before her will.

"Yes, okay," he said, in a small voice. "It should have been me too. John shouldn't have had to deal with that all on his own. He shouldn't have been the only one to be punished."

"Neither of you should have been punished," Teyla corrected him sharply. "You did nothing wrong, remember?"

Rodney blinked. "I…yes, of course. It's just…it's not fair."

"No, it is not," Teyla agreed, her tone soft and sympathetic once more.

"I…I have dreams about it sometimes," Rodney confessed. "About what they did to him in the square that day. Except this time I can't look away. And when they finally cut him down, I run over to him, because I want to help him. But then he turns round and looks at me like…like I'm disgusting."

Teyla said nothing, but mutely squeezed his hand.

"And what makes it worse is that it's exactly the same when I wake up. I can't help him because he doesn't want me to. He looks at me in just the same way as in my dream, and there's nothing I can do to get through to him…"

Rodney felt his shoulders start to tremble, and he resolutely sat up straight, forcing them to stop. He wasn't going to cry – he could keep that much of his dignity intact, at least.

"Rodney, you must have faith," Teyla was saying. "Things will come right. There must be a way…"

"But I've just told you I've run out of ideas," said Rodney frustratedly. "I _can't_ fix this. Fix _him_."

"There _must_ be a way," Teyla repeated firmly. "John cares for you very deeply – I have seen this with my own eyes. I knew it even before all of this happened. Before you told us about the two of you. He cares for you, and you for him, and you must believe that there is a way through this."

"Teyla, I really don't think…"

"Everything will be all right," Teyla said, steel in her voice again. "You must have faith."

*~*~*~*~*

Rodney pulled a face as on screen the hero of the piece ended up shirtless, much to the annoyance of the other characters. "Now why does this situation seem so familiar?" he muttered.

Beside him John grinned innocently. "You're just jealous," he proclaimed. "Because if I'm the captain that makes you the guy with fins on his head!"

"It does not!"

"Okay then, you're the stoned engineer guy."

"Hey! Although…he did get the pretty girl…"

"She has _tentacles_, Rodney."

Rodney coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "Chaya," and John elbowed him in the ribs.

"Very funny. Actually, I'm starting to think that you're definitely the fin-headed guy."

"Oh, shut up."

"Only if you do too so we can watch the movie."

They were sitting side by side on John's bed, laptop balanced rather precariously on their stretched out legs as they watched _Galaxy Quest_ for about the millionth time. Rodney had complained about yet another repeat viewing, but when John had pointed out that it was this or _Jurassic Park_ again, Rodney had given in, albeit with ill grace. At least with _Galaxy Quest_ he could amuse himself picking the science apart. With the dinosaur movie he didn't understand the science well enough _to_ pick it apart. Not that he'd ever admit it.

Yep, John was definitely feeling like he'd done his good deed for the day.

Shutting up didn't last for long, and they finished watching the movie while adding their own unique commentary – Rodney grumbling and exclaiming at the idiocy of beryllium spheres, chompers, and Omega 13 devices, while John gleefully chorused along with every proclamation of "Never give up! Never surrender!" until he could practically feel Rodney's annoyed glare boring a hole in the side of his head.

The credits had barely started rolling before Rodney slammed down the lid of the laptop and deposited it on the cabinet next to the bed, sighing in relief.

"Thank god for that. I thought it would never be over."

"Oh, come on, you enjoyed it. You're never happier than when you're ripping apart someone else's science."

Rodney gave John a withering glare. "Yes, but _that_ pile of lunacy hardly presents a challenge, does it? Since it's completely _made up_."

"Yes, that's what we call a _movie_, Rodney. They tend to be made up a lot of the time." John raised an eyebrow. "And besides, no one was forcing you to stay here and watch it with me."

"I felt sorry for you, that's all," Rodney replied loftily, although it was obvious he was trying not to smile. "I just thought it was sad that Atlantis's chief flyboy had no plans for a Friday night."

"Oh really." John gestured expansively towards the door. "Well, if Atlantis's chief _geek_ wants to get back to his sparkling social life, I won't try to stop him."

But Rodney didn't move, and John laughed. "What can I say, McKay, I'm touched."

"Well, I'd so hate to think of you pining away in here from loneliness." But Rodney was really smiling now – at least until John nudged him and he squawked indignantly, arms flailing as he tried not to fall off the bed. "Hey, watch it!"

John caught hold of an arm and pulled, steadying Rodney. "Oops, sorry," he said, pasting a look of false contrition on to his face.

Rodney scowled at him. "Oh, I am so getting you for that," he threatened, and immediately started pushing at John, trying to tip him off the other side of the bed.

Laughing, John braced himself, pushing back until they were properly wrestling. They rolled around on the bed, both of them nearly falling off more than once.

Eventually, however, John managed to get Rodney pinned beneath him. "Ah ha, now I have you at my mercy," he joked, in his best Evil Overlord of the Galaxy voice.

"Do your worst," Rodney challenged.

"Oh, don't worry, I will," John promised.

Then he woke up.

For a few seconds John just blinked in the semi-darkness, disorientated and confused after the surround-sound, technicolour nature of his dream. It had been so vivid – he could have sworn that the whole thing had actually been _real_.

He frowned as the thought occurred to him, and then he realised. It had been more than a dream – it was a _memory_.

His frown deepened as he examined the revelation. Was this a result of Heightmeyer's attempts at hypnosis? Was it actually working? Was there something for it to work _on_, after all?

But no, it _couldn't_ be the hypnosis. John hadn't even been able to achieve the relaxed, empty-minded state necessary to attempt it – something he could have told Heightmeyer would happen, based on his inability to meditate when he'd been stuck in that time-dilation field with Teer and the rest of her ascension-obsessed people.

He considered for a few moments. There was nothing particularly _memorable_ about the memory – he and McKay had watched hundreds of movies together – so why was he having such a vivid dream about it?

John mentally shook himself, trying to dismiss the question. Who cared if he was dreaming about watching movies with McKay? It was a completely mundane event – there was nothing there to prove everyone's assertions that he should be remembering more than he was.

Nonetheless, he thought back through the dream again, trying to pick out something important. But there was nothing. It _meant_ nothing.

Except then John realised that he was now smiling to himself in the darkness, amused by the remembrance of the banter, and Rodney's grumbling as the movie offended his scientific sensibilities. He realised that the dream (memory) had left him with a warm, contented glow. He felt…happy.

He concentrated on the feeling for a couple of seconds, and as he did so realised that at least some of the glow wasn't coming from him. Atlantis was humming contentedly in the back of his head, the city more present that it had been in days, and that on its own was enough to give John pause.

Then he shook himself again. This couldn't be right. He shouldn't be happy. He almost felt the mental nudge as his mind reminded him that McKay was dangerous territory, someone he should be wary of. Not someone he should associate with.

It was so confusing. Everything was tangled up. He shouldn't be friends with McKay, and yet hadn't he told Ronon just the other day that McKay _was_ his friend? He should be avoiding the man, yet his own memories were telling him that they had fun together, and that McKay made John feel happy.

What the hell was going on?

It took John a long time to get back to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*

Resisting the urge to slam his fist down on the desk, John instead crossed his arms across his chest in an effort to retain some self-control. Overt displays of anger weren't going to help him here, and in fact he suspected that he'd already let too much of his frustration show for this to have a favourable outcome.

"How many times are we going to have this discussion, John?" Elizabeth was asking.

_As many times as it takes before you believe me when I say I'm fine._ But whining or snapping wasn't going to help either, so he took a deep breath and tried to appeal to Elizabeth's sense of fairness and logic.

"How long as it been since we went to M3X-587?" he enquired calmly.

"A month," she replied, eyes narrowing as she tried to work out where this was going.

"A month," John agreed. "And in all that time, have I shown any signs of irrational behaviour? I mean, the kind of behaviour that would endanger myself and others off-world? The kind of behaviour that makes me unable to lead my team?"

"No," Elizabeth admitted. "But that's not what we're talking about here."

John's heart, which had leapt at Elizabeth's initial response, promptly sank again. "Elizabeth…"

"I'm not doubting your ability to fly a jumper, or fire a weapon, or even plan mission strategies," Elizabeth continued. "But the fact remains, there _is_ something wrong with you. Your mind had been altered in a way we still don't fully understand." She frowned. "And your continuing refusal to accept the fact is the biggest problem of all. And the reason why your arguments won't work on me."

Her words stirred a remembrance of John's dream from a few nights previously. He'd awoken the following morning still feeling unsettled and confused, until he'd firmly told himself to get a grip, and pushed the incident to the back of his mind. It was only a dream, after all. And even if it was about a memory, well, what of it? The event had happened, there was nothing particularly significant about it, and his mind had randomly chosen to dream about it on that particular night. End of story.

He'd resolutely ignored the little voice that had pointed out a day or two later that he'd suddenly _stopped_ avoiding McKay. So what if he had? He could admit to himself that he'd probably been a bit childish in doing it in the first place. Okay, so there was some weirdness there at the moment, but he was Atlantis's military commander, and McKay was its scientific chief _and_ on his team (even if John wasn't leading it at the moment). They had to be able to work together sensibly, no matter how John felt about McKay.

Still, he'd been hard-pressed not to laugh at the expression on McKay's face when John had voluntarily initiated a conversation with him in the mess hall one morning. Surprised didn't even begin to cover it.

But telling Elizabeth about all of that would only give her more ammunition for her – and everyone else's – theories. And no doubt she'd also tell Heightmeyer – and wouldn't a shrink have a field day with that kind of information?

"You know I'm right, John," Elizabeth said gently. "I can't take the risk."

"But I'm going _nuts_ here, Elizabeth!" John protested. "God help me, but I'm even beginning to understand McKay and his claustrophobia problem."

"You have the whole of Atlantis to roam around in, John," Elizabeth pointed out. "You're not confined to the infirmary, or your quarters – I've been more than accommodating." There was a hint of irritation in her voice now, and John knew he was on the cusp of being politely, but firmly, asked to leave. Desperately he tried to come up with a way to convince her, even though he knew it was hopeless.

Then someone cleared their throat behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to find McKay hovering a little nervously in the doorway.

"Hello, Rodney, what can I do for you?" Elizabeth beckoned invitingly, no doubt hoping that her new visitor would provide her with a reason to get rid of John.

"Oh, yes, I…uh…" McKay seemed to be having trouble finding his thread – his eyes seemed fixed on John, in a way that John found rather discomforting.

"I…er…" McKay tried again, and then appeared to come to a decision. "Look, I couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation…"

"Oh?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, well, you do have a rather permanent open-door policy, you know," McKay said defensively, gesturing to the conspicuously door-less entrance to the office.

"Okay, you have a point. Now, you were saying?"

"I have a suggestion, if you'd like to hear it?"

"By all means."

"Well, the colonel can't go through the Stargate, or lead missions at the moment, right?"

"We're all well aware of that, McKay," John said stiffly. Like he _needed_ another reminder.

"Yes, of course. Well, what about the mainland?"

Something inside John did a peculiar little flip-flop, and he suddenly found himself listening attentively.

"What about it?" Elizabeth asked.

"Well, Teyla's scheduled to go over there this afternoon, to catch up with her people, and I thought perhaps Colonel Sheppard here could fly her over in the jumper."

"I don't know, Rodney…"

"Oh, come on, it's the perfect plan. Colonel Sheppard can get out for a bit before he starts climbing the walls, and Teyla will be there to keep an eye on him"

John turned pleading eyes on Elizabeth. _Come on, come on, just say yes…_

But she was still looking doubtful, and McKay sighed loudly. "Look, if it'll make you feel better, I'll go too. That way, if the colonel does suddenly flip out or something, there'll still be someone there who can fly the jumper back. We could even take Ronon too, for back up. It'll be a nice team outing for us all."

"I'm flattered by your confidence in me, McKay," John said dryly. But he couldn't sound too sarcastic – excitement was bubbling up inside him, and he was having to resist the urge to go on his knees in front of Elizabeth and beg. He grinned at her encouragingly. "Didn't you just say that you still had faith in my flying ability?"

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment that felt like a lifetime to John, and then sighed and nodded, albeit reluctantly. "All right. I'll agree. But _only_ on the condition that Rodney _and_ Ronon go along too. And that you _only_ go to the mainland and come straight back as soon as Teyla is ready."

John straightened his spine and snapped off a crisp salute. "Yes, ma'am. I won't let you down."

"See that you don't," replied Elizabeth sternly. But a small smile was pulling at her lips, and John grinned again in return.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. Then he turned and gestured at McKay. "Come on, McKay, let's go. The sooner we find Teyla and tell her the good news, the sooner you can all start babysitting me on our little field trip."

"Oh joy," McKay responded sarcastically. But he nonetheless followed as John bounded out of the office, Elizabeth's admonishing '"Be careful," following them both as they left.

*~*~*~*~*

They landed on the mainland in one piece, something that Rodney considered to be nothing short of a miracle. John had obviously been ecstatic at being allowed to 'stretch his legs' a bit, and hadn't been able to resist putting the puddle jumper through its paces. His dives and barrel rolls had had Rodney squawking in alarm and praying to any and every god he'd ever heard of (_including_ the Ori and the Goa'uld) that they made it through this alive. Teyla, of course, had merely smiled indulgently at John's high spirits, although Rodney couldn't help noticing that she was clinging to her seat rather tightly. And Ronon, damn him, had been whooping as loudly as John, something that naturally only encouraged him.

"Oh my god," Rodney muttered, as he stumbled out of the jumper. "I think my whole life just passed before my eyes…"

"Relax, McKay," said Ronon. He cuffed Rodney around the back of the head. "You weren't in any danger. Sheppard's an excellent pilot."

Indignantly, Rodney smoothed his hair down again and scowled. "And where in the pilot's handbook does it say that you have to prove that by doing everything _except_ fly in a straight line?" he retorted.

"Straight lines are boring." John had emerged from the jumper with Teyla, his expression perilously close to what Rodney had once labelled his 'someone's taken all my Christmas presents away' pout.

"Straight lines won't get us _killed_."

"You're spoiling my fun, McKay."

John cranked the pout up another notch, and now Rodney really wanted to slap it off his face, because damn it if he wasn't feeling guilty.

"Fine. _Fine_," he said. "Just remind me to take a Valium or something before we return to Atlantis. That way I won't care about my imminent death by puddle jumper crash."

"Whatever, McKay." John grinned at Ronon, who grinned back, and Rodney suddenly felt like he was being ganged up on.

"If I might interject," Teyla said then, "perhaps we could make a start on moving the supplies and trade goods to the settlement? This trip was not merely for our own entertainment, after all."

"Move the supplies?" Rodney said, dismayed. "But surely your people will have seen the jumper? They'll be here soon and then they can…" Then he noticed Teyla's sternly raised eyebrow. "Yes, right, move the supplies. Absolutely. I'm on it."

He ignored John and Ronon's sniggers, and headed back into the jumper, grabbing the first box he saw. He immediately regretted not being more picky, however. The container was so heavy he wondered if the Athosians had started trading in rocks or something. But he was determined not to lose face, particularly when he saw John had picked up two of the containers, one under each arm, and Ronon was carrying two enormous sacks of seed as if they weighed no more than pillows.

Then he realised what John was doing. "Are you sure you should be exerting yourself like that, Colonel?" he asked. "Aren't you still healing?"

"It's fine, McKay," John replied, in his best 'don't fuss' voice. "It's just a couple of boxes."

Just a couple of boxes. Yeah, okay. Except that they were the heaviest boxes known to man.

Now Teyla looked worried too. "Are you sure, John?" she said dubiously. "Dr. Beckett will not be happy if you aggravate your injuries."

"Now see what you've done, McKay? I'm _fine_," John said to Teyla pointedly.

"Yeah, if he can run with me he can definitely do the lifting and carrying thing," Ronon put in.

"See? Nothing to worry about. Now are we going to get a move on, or are we going to talk about this all day?"

Rodney would certainly have liked to debate the matter further, but his container felt like it was growing heavier by the second, and he really needed to get it to the settlement before he dropped it. "All right," he said. "Just…don't strain yourself, okay?"

John gave him an impatient look. "I'll _try_," he said sarcastically.

Teyla had picked up a third sack. "I am sure we will meet some of my people on the way to the settlement," she said, giving Rodney a look. "They can then return with us and help with the rest of the supplies. No one will be straining anything."

Rodney wasn't so sure about that last part, but he nodded anyway.

"We'd better get going then," John said. He set off in the direction of the Athosian settlement with Teyla, whistling a jaunty tune.

With a grimace, Rodney shifted the box in his arms, trying to find a way to carry it that didn't feel like it was about to snap his wrists in half.

"Need a hand with that, McKay? We wouldn't want you to _strain_ anything." Ronon's eyes were glinting with suppressed laughter, and Rodney glared at him.

"No, thank you. I'm perfectly capable of carrying a _box_." He stalked off after John and Teyla, wondering how long it would be before his arms dropped off.

*~*~*~*~*

Rodney groaned as he alternately massaged one forearm, and then the other. He was sure he'd done permanent damage to them. He just wasn't built for manual labour. Of any kind. He was made for more important things. Stuff that required brains and a delicate touch. And lugging boxes around didn't necessitate either of those things. Lugging boxes was what they had Ronon for.

"You all right, McKay?" John appeared from inside the jumper, where he'd been checking they hadn't missed any of the supplies, and lowered himself to the ramp next to Rodney. Rodney couldn't help but notice the small grimace that crossed John's face as he sat, but his desire to crow about 'just a couple of boxes' was tempered by the knowledge that he knew exactly why John was feeling the effects of the day's exertion. So he kept his mouth shut.

He also couldn't fail to notice that John had left at least two feet of space between them, something that saddened him all over again. Still, it was progress. At least they were actually sitting together. And having a conversation.

"Oh yes, I'll be fine," he replied with a martyred sigh. "I'll just never be able to lift a cup of coffee to my mouth again, that's all."

John huffed out a laugh. "So nothing drastic then?"

"Oh ha ha, very funny," Rodney muttered. "You have experienced me before I've had my coffee in the morning, remember? As I recall, you said it was scarier than facing ten Wraith hive ships." Then he realised what he'd said, and held his breath, remembering himself the reason John was normally around him that early in the day.

John, however, didn't appear to have noticed anything amiss. He merely laughed again, and shrugged. "It was," he replied lightly. "_Way_ scarier." He appeared to be considering something. "We'll just have to hook you up to an intravenous caffeine drip then," he continued. "I'm sure Carson would agree that it would be good for your health. _And_ everyone else's."

Rodney closed his eyes in momentary bliss, imagining it. "Do you really think we could persuade him?" he asked dreamily.

"Not a chance."

Rodney's eyes snapped open again. "Oh, thank you _so_ much for bursting my bubble."

"Sorry."

Rodney scowled, and pointedly turned his back on John a little, so that he didn't have to look at John's patently _un_-sorry grin. "When do you think Teyla and Ronon will be back, anyway?" he said waspishly.

"Teyla said they wouldn't be more than an hour. She wanted to catch up with Halling and some of the others. And Ronon seemed to be having too much fun to leave."

"Yeah, I don't think I'll ever be able to get the image of him playing horsey with those kids out of my mind," Rodney said. "If you or I ever tried pulling his dreadlocks like that, we'd be in pieces on the floor faster than you can say 'Heigh-ho, Silver, away!'."

John snorted. "You got that right."

"Why didn't you want to stay, anyway?" Rodney asked. "Normally you like hanging out with Halling and the others."

"Just felt like taking a walk," John replied. Out of the corner of his eye Rodney could see him shrugging again. "I _have_ been feeling a little cooped up of late, you know."

"Oh, yeah, right."

"And about that…" John was rubbing at the back of his neck in that way he did when he was feeling awkward or embarrassed about something.

Rodney turned back towards him, sensing that it was time to end his fake snit. "Yes?"

"I just wanted to say…well, thanks, really. For persuading Elizabeth to let me out."

"Oh, that." Rodney waved a hand at him. "It was nothing," he lied.

"No, honestly, I appreciate it," John said. "Especially since I know we haven't really been seeing eye-to-eye lately."

"Well, you've had a lot on your plate," said Rodney, suddenly feeling the need to tread _very_ carefully. "What they did to you…"

"…wasn't exactly a picnic," John finished. "But Carson says I'm nearly healed. I'll just have a few more scars to add to the collection, that's all."

Rodney winced as a vision of that day in the Nimaani city square floated across his mind again, but luckily John didn't appear to notice. "I'm glad to hear that," he said. "And…what about Heightmeyer? What's her verdict?" he asked tentatively.

He knew immediately it had been the wrong thing to say. John tensed visibly. "Don't, McKay," he said sharply. "Don't go there."

"I…"

"McKay…" John growled warningly.

"But can't you just _try_ and remember something?" The desperate words slipped out before Rodney could stop them, and John stiffened up even more.

"There's nothing more to remember," he snapped. "You. Me. Friends. That's _it_."

"Except we're not even that any more, are we?" Rodney snapped back. "We're barely even acquaintances."

"Well, it's hard to be anything when you keep looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to do _more_ than look," John retorted. He rose to his feet suddenly and stalked away, leaving Rodney sitting alone on the ramp, shocked into silence.

*~*~*~*~*

"Has something happened, Rodney?"

Rodney looked up to see Teyla silhouetted against the light flooding in through the still open hatch of the jumper, and then turned his attention back to the tablet on which, if anyone had asked, he would have said he was working on the secret of perpetual motion, but on which he was _actually_ playing minesweeper.

"No, nothing," he muttered. "Unless you count me suddenly developing a serious case of foot-in-mouth disease."

"Oh." Teyla came and sat down in the pilot's chair, and looked across at Rodney. "I am guessing this would explain why Colonel Sheppard is outside looking extremely bad-tempered, and attempting to hit small rocks with a large stick."

"Probably," Rodney agreed. "How's his batting average?" he asked absently, and then cursed under his breath when he hit a cluster of mines. He looked up in time to see Teyla's confused look dissolve into a small smile.

"I said he is 'attempting', did I not?"

"Ah." Rodney was unable to resist a small smile of his own. Then he frowned. "Although that's odd – anger normally improves Sheppard's aim."

"Well, perhaps Ronon is distracting him. He is also out there, talking to the colonel."

"And by talking I suppose you mean trying to hit bigger rocks with a larger stick?" Rodney enquired.

"No, he _is_ actually talking," Teyla corrected him. Then she smiled again. "Although he is also hitting rocks with a stick," she allowed. "And with a rather greater degree of accuracy than Colonel Sheppard."

Rodney snorted. "Well, you might want to tell him that that's not the best way to calm Sheppard down. John hates losing. At anything."

"This I have noticed."

The sound of laughter from outside the puddle jumper, overlaid with some choice curses from John, only proved the point.

"I'm thinking of suing you for false advertising, you know," Rodney said conversationally into the ensuing silence.

Teyla blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You said things would be fine. They're not."

"Oh, Rodney…" There was a world of sympathy in Teyla's voice. "Your people have a saying, do they not? 'Rome wasn't built in a day'."

"No, it wasn't," Rodney acknowledged. "But you might have noticed that people around here seem to expect things to happen rather more quickly than that. A day is an eternity when people are yelling that they want shields fixed, or power consumption improved, or their asses saving from the latest Wraith attack. By those standards, John should have got better _eons_ ago."

"So you have not succeeded in figuring out a way to 'fix' John yet?"

Something in Teyla's voice made Rodney look up sharply from his latest abysmal round of minesweeper. "What are you trying to say?" he demanded.

"I have been thinking, Rodney – what if there is not a way to fix him?"

"I refuse to believe that. I can find a way to put this right. Or if I can't, then Carson will. But if you ever tell him I said that, I'll have to shoot you."

"I do not mean it that way," Teyla said. "But what if there is nothing you – or Dr. Beckett – can do yourselves? What if you just have to wait?"

"I'm not very good at waiting."

"I have noticed this too," Teyla responded. "But it may be your only option."

"And isn't it working out fantastically so far?" Rodney muttered bitterly. "The improvements have been so astounding, I can't think why I didn't notice them before."

"You and John are talking now, are you not?"

"Well, we were," said Rodney, his anger dissipating abruptly. "Until I went and pushed things."

"That is precisely what I am talking about," said Teyla gently. "Perhaps it would be best if you didn't 'push' things, and just waited for John to come back to you. He has already made steps in that direction, no matter what you say."

_But they're not the right steps, are they?_ Rodney thought to himself. Teyla hadn't seen the renewal of the hostility in John's eyes before he'd walked away earlier, the anger that Rodney's words had given rise to.

"I still believe that everything will be fine, Rodney," Teyla was saying. "And you must continue to believe it too."

"I'll try," Rodney replied, although it was more because he knew she wanted to hear it than because he _did_ actually believe it himself.

Belief could only take a man so far, after all, before giving up started to look like an attractive option.

*~*~*~*~*

"Where is he? Just wait until I get my hands on him – he'll wish he'd never come back!"

Rodney's voice echoed around the infirmary, interspersed with Beckett's quieter tones as he exhorted him to keep the noise down.

"This is a medical facility, Rodney. People need peace and quiet."

"Oh, please, you've only got one patient at the moment, and it serves him right if I give him a headache."

John sat calmly on the edge of the bed and waited for Rodney to notice that he was neither asleep, nor at death's door. It was no good expecting the man to behave any differently – whether John merely had a few bruises (as in this case), or had broken every bone in his body, Rodney's reaction would be exactly the same.

And John had to admit he didn't really mind the worrying and the shouting.

"There you are!" Rodney had finally noticed him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, McKay. Just a few bruises. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about."

Rodney scowled at him. "I'll be the judge of that. Let me see."

"There's nothing to see, Rodney. I'm fine."

"I fail to see how anyone can be 'fine' after being kept prisoner by ignorant and backward natives for two days."

"It was quite restful, actually," John joked. "It was nice to have a couple of days off. And the Gourish are neither ignorant, nor backward, as you well know."

Rodney pulled a face that told John he still disputed that point, but didn't say anything else on the subject. "Anyway, how did you escape?" he asked instead. "Because we were putting together a spectacular rescue plan, just so you know."

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't get to witness that firsthand," John told him. "But an opportunity presented itself, and I took it."

"And that opportunity was…?"

John grinned in a way guaranteed to annoy Rodney. "Aliona helped me."

"Aliona? Oh, you mean the magistrate's daughter. The person who got us into this mess _in the first place_."

"It wasn't her fault, McKay."

"Actually, you know what? You're right. It was _your_ fault for flirting with her! You just can't help but turn on the charm around the ladies, can you, Colonel? And then you act all surprised when their fathers get pissed off and chase us out of their village, shooting their primitive but _painful_ weapons at us."

"Jealous, Rodney?"

"Furious, is more like it."

"Oh yes?"

Rodney glared, and put his hands on his hips. When he spoke, he affected a drawl that was obviously supposed to be a bad parody of John's own speech. "_Head for the gate – I'll cover you_," he mimicked. "_Don't wait for me._"

Ah. So that was what this was about.

"It's my job to keep my team safe, Rodney," he said calmly.

"Not when that results in you getting captured, imprisoned, and most likely beaten up!"

"Even then," John told him. He reached out a hand and curled it around Rodney's wrist, dragging him closer. "I would far rather it was me than you," he added quietly.

Rodney stared at him with wide eyes, suddenly silent. After a pause, he nodded jerkily, and then his eyes dropped to John's hand on his arm.

The moment stretched out until Beckett bustled up to John's beside. John quickly drew his hand back, and turned his attention to the doctor, grinning disarmingly.

"You're going to let me go now, right, Doc? Because like I was just telling McKay here, I'm fine."

"That you are, Colonel," Beckett agreed. "I can't find anything wrong with you more serious than the odd bruise. For once," he finished pointedly.

But John just widened his grin, and hopped down off the bed. "Great. Thanks, Doc." He headed for the door. "Coming, McKay?"

"As if I'd let you out of my sight," he heard Rodney mutter, and grinned again.

He could feel Rodney's eyes on him all the way back to his quarters, and was completely unsurprised when the other man followed him through the door, coming to a halt right in front of John as he stood by the bed. Rodney's hands settled on his shoulders, and John gave him a quizzical look.

"Whatcha doing, Rodney?"

Rodney was looking at him intently. "As if I'd trust Carson to decide whether you're fine or not," he said, by way of an explanation.

"I believe Beckett _does_ have a medical degree," John pointed out.

"Not worth the paper it's written on," replied Rodney dismissively, still peering at John's face. "Now stand still while I check you over."

"Rodney…"

"Stand _still_, I said!"

Recognising a McKay on a mission, John obediently remained where he was. He wasn't exactly going to complain about being the object of Rodney's scrutiny, after all.

Still, he couldn't resist a little joke. "If you find anything wrong, are you going to kiss it better?" he asked. "Because I'm pretty sure I managed to injure my lips while I was languishing in that prison cell…"

"Oh, ha ha, very funny," Rodney muttered sourly, but he nonetheless leaned forward, giving John a quick peck on the lips. It wasn't anything close to what John wanted, however, and he tried to follow Rodney as he drew away again. But Rodney's hands on his shoulders kept him at arm's length, and John realised that Rodney needed to do this his way. He went back to keeping still.

Having apparently found no obvious injuries on John's face and neck, Rodney slid his hands down the front of John's shirt, fingers finding and undoing the buttons one by one until, with an impatient gesture, he indicated that John could shrug out of it. John obeyed, and then resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Rodney's sharp gaze zeroed in on the bruises on his ribcage.

Really, as far as injuries went, they were negligible. John had suffered far worse in his time, and these bruises weren't even the result of a beating, no matter what Rodney had claimed earlier. Rather, they were the consequences of a rather abrupt meeting with the floor when he'd been thrust into his cell. After that no one had laid hands on him at all. It had been one of his more boring prison stints, truth be told.

"That's all there is, Rodney," he said. "I promise I'm not hiding a broken rib or a festering stab wound."

Rodney made a disbelieving sound in his throat. "Like I'm going to take your word for it."

"Oh, by all means continue your examination, Dr. McKay."

Rodney shot John a quick glare, softened it with another fast kiss that was still nowhere near enough, and proceeded to start unfastening John's pants – exactly what John had been hoping would happen.

Taking the initiative a little, John toed off his boots as Rodney undid the zipper, and then stepped out of his pants as Rodney let them fall down around his ankles.

He felt Rodney's eyes sweep up and down his legs a couple of times, obviously noting the lack of injuries. He also hoped Rodney had noted his cock, which had started to harden under the focus of Rodney's attention.

"See, what did I tell you? Clean bill of health. You might have to go and apologise to Beckett."

Rodney dragged his gaze back up John's body, snappy comeback uncharacteristically absent, held John's eye for a fraction of a second – more than enough time for John to read all the emotion in his face – and then surged forward, capturing John's lips in the kind of kiss John had been craving ever since he'd stepped back through the Stargate, dirty, tired, but for once relatively unharmed.

He moaned slightly as the rough fabric of Rodney's uniform rubbed against his now very interested cock, and that was apparently all the permission Rodney needed to place his hands on John's shoulders again, pressing down and back until John sat down on the bed with a graceless bounce.

But Rodney kept pressing, dragging his lips away as he forced John to lie back, feet still flat on the floor as he sprawled along the length of the mattress.

"Hey, why don't you come join me?" John said hoarsely. "Bit lonely here with just one."

But Rodney merely shook his head at him, and then sank to his knees with a lack of finesse similar to that John had just demonstrated. He shuffled forward until he was between John's knees, rested his hands on John's thighs, and leaned over and took the head of John's cock in his mouth.

"Holy cr…"

And he was awake.

He was awake, breathless, angry, and confused.

He was also achingly hard.

What the fuck was going on? Why the hell was he having sex dreams about McKay?

_It's not a dream,_ whispered a little voice in his head. _You know it's not._

This was getting weirder by the second. He remembered getting captured by the Gourish. He remembered talking to Aliona, and then getting chased back to the gate with his team. He remembered the prison cell, and he remembered Aliona turning up with the key, and then showing him an unobtrusive way out of the village. He even remembered McKay turning up in the infirmary and shouting the place down.

He did _not_ remember McKay following him back to his quarters and then proceeding to undress him.

Except, apparently, he did.

What the hell was happening to him?

Deliberately, he turned his mind back to the dream, and felt a wave of distaste flow through him as he pictured McKay kneeling between his legs. Why would he want that?

Except…except…the distaste hadn't made him any less hard, and as quickly as it had arrived, it faded. It felt…well, it felt almost like a programmed response.

"Fuck," John muttered. He didn't know what to think any more. He'd had a couple more fairly innocuous dreams about McKay since that first one a week ago, although those he'd managed to push to the back of his mind and not think about too much. But this was something different, and instinctively he knew it would be harder to dismiss.

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was 0530 – nearly time to get up in any case. Clambering shakily out of bed, he went into the bathroom, intent on taking a shower, absently noting the alacrity with which Atlantis raised the lights and started the water running. _Higher_, he thought at the city, and then stuck his hand into the falling water, feeling with satisfaction that it was as hot as he'd wanted it.

John reflected sourly for a moment on Atlantis's sudden eagerness to please – something that had been noticeably absent from their interactions of late – and then pushed the half-formed conclusions resolutely to the back of his mind as he stepped into the shower.

And then, standing under the scalding spray, he jerked himself off, carefully thinking about nothing at all.

*~*~*~*~*

"_Colonel Sheppard to the control room. Repeat, Colonel Sheppard to the control room._"

John tapped his earpiece quickly, muttering a quick "On my way", and then pushed himself up out of his chair, trying not to be annoyed that the demand for his presence was cutting into his quality staring-into-space time. It was, after all, something he wasn't short of at the moment, and no doubt he'd be able to pay more attention to the middle-distance later on with no problems at all.

He strode steadily through the hallways, and then jogged up the stairs to the control room. Chuck gave him a nod as he appeared, and then jerked his head towards the other side of the room.

John scarcely needed the directing. He'd spotted the group clustered around the monitor in the corner of the room immediately. Everyone was there – Elizabeth, Teyla, Ronon…and McKay.

He grimaced, and then quickly smoothed the expression away, hoping Chuck hadn't noticed. He'd been avoiding McKay again since the incident on the mainland, and then avoiding him even more after the dream he'd had, and this time he wasn't even trying to pretend otherwise. He knew Elizabeth was losing patience with the situation, and every time he _did_ happen to catch a glimpse of McKay, the scientist looked upset or confused by the turn events suddenly seemed to have taken.

But John couldn't help that. He was pretty confused by the whole situation himself. The fact that he wasn't telling Beckett or Elizabeth or Heightmeyer anything about what he was experiencing hadn't escaped his notice either. He knew he should at least tell the former, but he couldn't bring himself to.

He could only admit it to himself, but he was frightened about what it all meant. And right now burying his head in the sand seemed like as good a course of action as any.

Elizabeth turned slightly as John approached the group. "Oh, John, there you are." Her voice sounded strained, and her body was blocking his view of the screen.

"Here I am," John agreed. "What's up?" He sensed that McKay was now looking at him too, but he kept his eyes firmly fixed on Elizabeth.

"A situation has arisen," Elizabeth began delicately, but then another voice cut her off, crackly and tinny as it was filtered through the monitor's speakers.

"What is you answer, Dr. Weir? My people do not have much time."

As Elizabeth turned back to the monitor, John stepped up behind her, peering over her shoulder as his stomach churned with an unidentifiable emotion. He knew that voice…

Representative Seldan looked back at him from the screen, the Nimaani's face registering a flicker of…something as he spotted John, although his only response was to repeat his question to Elizabeth.

"What does he want?" John muttered in a low voice, before she could give any kind of answer.

"The Nimaani are experiencing a culling," Teyla said, and if John hadn't known better, he would have sworn she sounded satisfied by that. "They are asking for our help."

"Oh." And now that John was paying attention, he could hear the faint sound of darts whining in the background of Seldan's transmission, and maybe even the odd faint scream and explosion. "So no shield then?"

"It would appear not," said McKay, and then looked away when John's glance darted involuntarily towards him.

"But how did they get Atlantis's gate address? They didn't see us leave, after all."

Teyla glanced towards McKay, as if expecting him to explain, but when he said nothing, she looked back to John. "The Nimaani have technology that allows them to identify in what order previous gate addresses were dialled," she said. "That is how."

"Ah. Sounds like a useful thing to have. Such a shame we can't get a hold of it."

"Please, Dr. Weir." Seldan was beginning to sound desperate. "What is your answer? My people need your help."

"I don't see why we should help you," Elizabeth said, and John wondered if that hard, unyielding tone was the one she used when brokering treaties and agreements between countries, governments, and warring factions. "You have made it abundantly clear that you do not welcome any communication with Atlantis or its people."

"Dr. Weir…"

"Luckily for you," Elizabeth continued, her voice no less cold, but her expression warming minutely, "we are not willing to stand by and watch _any_ people suffer at the hands of the Wraith. We will help you."

"Oh, thank you, thank you…"

"_However_, we want something in return."

"I am sure there are many ways we could help you, many things we could provide in the way of technology or…"

"I want you to reverse what you've done to Colonel Sheppard," Elizabeth said flatly.

John tensed.

"Oh. I'm not sure whether…"

"Those are our terms. Take them or leave them."

"Yes, yes, of course. Those terms are most acceptable. But please hurry. The Wraith are only increasing in numbers. My people aren't safe."

Elizabeth gave him a sharp nod. "We'll be there as quickly as we can."

The transmission cut off, and Elizabeth gestured to Teyla, Ronon, and McKay. "Get kitted up. Major Lorne's team will be accompanying you. But I want to make one thing clear. Help as much as you can, but don't take unnecessary risks. No matter how much we wish we could, we _can't_ stop a culling. Get in, help as many as you can, get what we need from them, and get out again. Understood?"

McKay nodded emphatically, and Teyla and Ronon followed suit.

John cleared his throat. "I want to go," he said bluntly.

"No."

"But…"

"_No_, John," Elizabeth repeated sternly. "You're still barred from active duty, and now is not the time to reverse that decision."

"So it doesn't matter to you that you've made a deal concerning what you claim is my 'cure', and yet you won't let me play any part in its execution?"

"It's too dangerous, John."

"Oh, come on! I've faced hundreds of Wraith before. This is hardly the worst…"

"I don't mean that," Elizabeth interrupted him. Then she softened her voice a little. "We might be helping the Nimaani, but I still don't trust them as far as I can throw them. For all we know this might be a ploy to get you back to their planet again."

"That seems like a lot of trouble to go to just for little old me," John retorted sarcastically.

"And it's probably not the case," Elizabeth conceded. "But I won't take any chances on this, John. You're not going, and that's final. Trust in the rest of your team to do what they need to."

"We will not fail, Colonel," Teyla assured him.

"Yeah, you can rely on us, Sheppard," Ronon added.

McKay didn't say anything, but John could feel his gaze boring into the side of his head.

"Fine," he said, giving way with ill grace. "I'll just wait here like a good little grounded flyboy. Happy?"

"Of course not, John," Elizabeth said softly. "But this is the way it has to be. I'm sorry." She nodded again at the rest of his team, and they departed quickly.

John crossed the control room to the balcony, peripherally aware of Elizabeth returning to her office. Leaning on the railing, he looked down at the Stargate, waiting – something he'd been doing far too much of lately – and brooding on how the situation had suddenly changed.

His team were hoping that by the end of this mission they'd have a cure for him. Something that would give him his memories – and more – back. John sighed to himself. He couldn't really deny any more that there _was_ something wrong with him. But did he really want to be cured? Sure, it would mean Elizabeth would un-ground him – something that he'd been desperate for for weeks – and he could go back to leading his team and doing his job _properly_. But it also meant he'd apparently get other things back – things that people kept telling him – that _McKay_ kept telling him – were normal to him.

Did he really want all that? He wasn't quite sure.

*~*~*~*~*

Major Lorne cloaked the puddle jumper as soon as they'd exited the wormhole, and piloted it towards the glow in the night sky that Teyla knew marked the position of the Nimaani city. There were small shapes that could only be darts zipping backwards and forwards in the air, and further above two Wraith cruisers were an ominous and no doubt watchful presence. As they watched the ships unleashed another barrage of weapons fire on the city.

"It's burning," Ronon commented, peering forward from his seat on the opposite side of the jumper.

"I hope we are not too late," Teyla murmured in reply. She could not deny that there was a certain amount of justice in this situation, but still, she would never wish a culling on any race, even one such as the Nimaani.

"We're not going to be able to land in the city," Lorne said. "Even with the jumper cloaked, I don't want to risk it with the Wraith playing target practice like that. We'll set down a short distance away, and continue on foot." He looked around, as if waiting for an argument, his eyes lingering particularly on Rodney.

The scientist huffed in indignation. "I don't know why you're looking at me! I don't want to see the puddle jumper get blown up either. And besides, I don't think there's anywhere you _could_ set it down inside the city. The main square maybe, but…"

He trailed off, a pained look suddenly appearing on his face, and Teyla flashed him a sympathetic smile. The one he gave her in return was weak, but determined.

Flying low and smooth across the ground, the jumper drew closer to the city. They spotted no one on the ground beneath them, and Teyla caught Ronon's puzzled look.

"You'd think they'd all be heading for the Stargate as fast as they could," Ronon said, elaborating on his expression.

"Perhaps the Wraith have been dialling in, preventing anyone from leaving."

"No, that can't be right," Rodney said. "I mean, we managed to dial in okay. And _someone_ must have got to the gate on this side, in order to dial Atlantis."

"So why weren't they waiting for us when we arrived?" Ronon asked.

"Maybe they have their own version of the alpha site, and they went there after the wormhole to Atlantis disengaged," Teyla suggested.

"Or perhaps they hung around too long and got culled," Rodney said pessimistically. "After all, the Nimaani probably never thought they'd _need_ an alpha site."

It pained her to admit it, but Teyla agreed with him that that was the most likely scenario.

"Heads up, people – we're here," Lorne announced quietly from the pilot's seat, interrupting the bleak discussion. He'd got them as close to the city as he dared, although Teyla could see through the forward window that they were still at least a hundred metres from the city's main gate. And there were still a lot of darts in the air.

Settling the jumper gently on the ground, Lorne powered down the engines, and then turned and looked back at them all. "Sergeant Phillips, Corporal Wilson, stay with the jumper and keep an eye out. We'll keep in radio contact, but let me know straight away if anything changes with the Wraith. We don't want to be caught with our pants down. Teyla, Ronon, Dr. McKay, Lieutenant Reeves, you're with me. We're going into the city."

Everyone quickly checked and rechecked their weapons as the rear hatch slowly lowered, and then there was nothing for it but to make a quick dash for the city gate during a momentary lull in the darts' fly-bys.

They paused just inside the gate to catch their breaths and assess the situation. Inside the city, there was a lot more cover, both from the buildings and the deep shadows they cast. But once again there were also no people to be seen, and Teyla grimly revised her hopeful assessment of the situation. It looked very much like they _were_ too late. This close the glow above the city from the fires was even more pronounced, and she found it difficult to believe that people would have been able to remain in hiding when subjected to a bombardment such as the cruiser was delivering. But then again, that was probably the point.

She couldn't help but wonder what that meant for their other objective.

Beside her, Teyla could hear Rodney breathing heavily in the darkness. Teyla was proud of him for the determination that was enabling him to see this mission through, and also touched by the obvious depth of emotion that had prompted it. She sincerely hoped they managed to get what they had come for, for his sake as much as John's.

Lorne stepped close to her so he could speak without raising his voice too much. "Where now?" he asked.

"I believe we should head for the main square," Teyla replied, and felt Rodney tense beside her. "They kept Colonel Sheppard in one of the buildings there and…"

"_Teyla Emmagan._"

The piercing whisper had the weapons of Lorne, Ronon, and Lieutenant Reeves rising instantly, although they all quickly realised they had no idea where the voice had come from.

"_Do not shoot_," came the whisper again. "_I am here to guide you._"

Teyla touched Lorne's arm lightly. "It is all right, Major," she said softly. "I believe I know who it is." Then she raised her voice slightly. "You may show yourself, Representative. We will not hurt you."

There was a moment's pause, and then Seldan emerged from the doorway of the nearest building, looking somewhat apprehensive and holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender despite Teyla's assurances.

"Major Lorne, Lieutenant Reeves, this is Representative Seldan," Teyla said smoothly, as if she were performing introductions at a trading negotiation, and not in the middle of a combat zone with Wraith flying around overhead. Then she let her voice harden a little. "We met the last time we were here."

"Nice to meet you," said Lorne, his voice implying it was anything but. "Now, I believe you said something about guiding us?"

"Yes." Seldan nodded. "And Teyla Emmagan is right – Justice Davos is waiting for us in the city hall. I can take you there by a route that will not expose us to the watchful eyes of the Wraith."

"Good." Lorne nodded in return. "In that case, you're in front with me, Representative. Teyla and Dr. McKay, you next. Ronon, Reeves, you take our six. Let's go."

They moved quickly and silently through the city. Seldan flinched every time a dart went past overhead, or an explosion sounded a little too close for comfort, but for the most part he proved an able guide, keeping them away from the main streets and thoroughfares, but always leading them, as far as Teyla could tell, towards the heart of the city.

"Teyla!"

Rodney's hand clutched at her arm suddenly, pulling her to a stop. In front, Lorne and Seldan had heard his whisper and halted too, as had Ronon and Reeves behind.

"What is it, Rodney?" Teyla asked.

"I saw something."

"Just shadows," said Ronon dismissively, and was treated to a withering glare.

"I didn't imagine it!" said Rodney stubbornly. "I _saw_ something. Down there." He pointed along a side street, and Teyla stared hard into the darkness. Maybe there _was_ something…

"Is it the Wraith?" Lorne asked in a low voice.

"I do not think so," Teyla replied. "I am not sensing anything."

Then the shadows moved, detaching themselves from the side of a building and resolving into people – a man, a woman, and two children, the latter clinging to the adults as they looked around with frightened eyes.

"It is all right," Teyla said soothingly. "We are not Wraith. We are friends." The irony of her words was not lost on her, but she pushed it aside. "We are here to help."

The group came closer, and Teyla reached out a hand to them. "We are here to help," she repeated.

The woman's face crumpled a little as she finally realised this might be a chance of rescue. "We didn't know what to do," she said tremulously. "The Wraith see everything. Everyone else is gone. We didn't know how to get out of the city, so we hid."

Teyla exchanged a quick glance with Ronon and Major Lorne. They had all noticed how deserted the city seemed to be, and this woman's words only confirmed her worst fears. They _were_ too late. There was no one left to save.

No one except these four people.

"Lieutenant Reeves," Lorne said quietly. "Escort these people out of the city. Take them to the jumper and then wait for us there. Radio Phillips and Wilson to tell them you're coming."

"Yes, sir. Come on, people, let's go. We're going to get you to safety." Reeves started shepherding the four survivors – who were obviously a family – back the way they had come. The children were still gazing around fearfully, but their mother and father were looking more hopeful, and the woman smiled gratefully at Teyla as she was led away.

"Surely that can't be everyone left in the city?" Rodney said, as they watched the small group move away.

"The Wraith are ruthless," said Ronon. He glanced quickly at Seldan. "Particularly when they find a new, untouched feeding ground."

"But what about Davos?" said Rodney. "Will he still be alive? Will we be able to get to him? What if…?"

"Do not worry, Rodney," Teyla said. "We will get what we came for. Have faith."

"Faith again," Rodney sighed, but Teyla was pleased to see that his back straightened a little, and there was a familiar gleam in his eye, as when he had a difficult problem he was determined to solve.

"Teyla Emmagan is once again correct," Seldan said. "The city hall is strongly built, and the justice is waiting for us in the levels below-ground, so he will be well protected."

Another explosion sounded nearby, and for a moment the night air glowed more brightly.

"Nothing around here can withstand that kind of attack for long," Lorne said grimly. "We need to get a move on."

*~*~*~*~*

This deep under the city hall, the whine of the darts was silenced, and even the explosions were muffled, no more than distant rumblings and the occasional faint vibration. Rodney hurried along behind Lorne and Seldan, slightly more hopeful now than he had been a little while earlier, when they'd been forced to change their route through the city for the third time after being once again blocked by fallen rubble or fire.

"Is this where you were brought when you saw Sheppard last time?" he asked Teyla in a low voice.

She shook her head in the negative. "It was similar to this, but the cell Colonel Sheppard was being kept in was at least one level above," she replied. "I have not been in this part of the building before."

"This is the lowest level," Seldan said, having overheard them. "We are three storeys below the surface here. This is where we carry out our most extreme forms of justice."

"Torture friendly visitors, more like," Rodney muttered, but quietly enough this time that the Nimaani official couldn't hear him.

They passed several doors, all shut and all featureless, and Rodney couldn't stop himself from imagining what might be behind them. The ideas his mind presented him with were unpleasant, to say the least.

Then they rounded a corner, and there was a door ahead of them that was open. "We are here," Seldan said. He hurried forward, and the Atlanteans trailed after him. "I have brought them," the representative was saying, and then Rodney was through the door and inside a room that was a disturbing combination of laboratory and torture chamber.

Consoles and what were obviously the Nimaani equivalent of computers lined the walls, interspersed with lab benches holding devices that Rodney couldn't even begin to guess the meaning of – although in more cordial circumstances he might have liked the opportunity to try.

And in the centre of the room was a chair on a pedestal, made of a dull grey metal. It reminded Rodney uncomfortably of the Atlantis control chair, although he suspected that this one had been designed with more nefarious purposes in mind than communication with an Ancient city and its systems. The cruel-looking metal restraints for the wrists and ankles probably had something to do with that.

"So few?" a voice said, interrupting Rodney's contemplation of the chair. He turned his head, and saw Justice Davos standing in a corner of the room, surveying the team from Atlantis with great dislike. "How are four to be any use to us?"

Then the Nimaani's voice hardened further, something that Rodney hadn't thought possible. "It does not matter, anyway," Davos continued. "You are too late. The Wraith are triumphant and my people are gone."

It was clear he felt the Atlanteans hadn't tried hard enough to fulfil their end of the bargain, and Rodney felt a protest rising to his lips.

But Teyla forestalled him. "We could not have stopped this culling, however many people we had brought," she said, her voice icily polite. "There are two Wraith cruisers above the city, but who knows how many hive ships in orbit. And while Atlantis does have use of a ship capable of destroying a hive, it is not currently in the Pegasus Galaxy. Our only option was to come here and try to assist your people in evacuating."

"And I say again, you are too late even for that," Davos snapped. "My people are gone, taken by the Wraith, and you have done nothing to help them. It seems the people of Atlantis are no good at honouring their bargains."

Rodney felt dismay wash through him. If Davos thought they'd failed in helping the Nimaani, would he withhold the information or technology necessary to help John? He couldn't allow that to happen. He remembered Teyla's words: _We will get what we came for._ He hoped that was still possible.

"We came as requested," Teyla said. "And we will do everything in our power to help."

"Useless words," Davos spat. "And besides, I think you have already done more than enough here."

Sudden silence and stillness spread through the room following Davos's anguished words, into which dropped the unmistakeable sound of Ronon's gun powering up.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" the Satedan asked, in a menacing tone.

Davos's lip curled disdainfully at the threat the other man posed. "Merely that I find it something of a coincidence that the Wraith only became aware of our existence here after the people of Atlantis had visited us."

"Oh, you _are_ joking!" Rodney exclaimed. "You think we told the Wraith you were here out of, what? Some petty desire for revenge? I don't think so! Not that I didn't entertain one or two thoughts in that direction, of course, but…"

"Rodney." Teyla's voice was calm but firm, and Rodney let his protests die away in the face of her faintly reproving stare. He probably wasn't helping matters, he realised.

Teyla turned back to Davos. "If you believe the people of Atlantis capable of such an act, then you are sadly mistaken," she said. "We have found ourselves at odds with other peoples before, but never have we betrayed them to the Wraith. That is not a fate any of us would wish on anyone."

"Maybe you should check out some of your other trading partners, though," Ronon interjected. "If you really think someone betrayed you."

"Maybe they are right, Davos," Seldan said nervously. "Why would they be here trying to help if they were responsible for this? Why would they put themselves in danger?"

Davos seemed unconvinced. "Even if they are not responsible for this, they are still too late," he said. "Their much vaunted assistance has come to nothing."

"You are mistaken," Teyla told him. "On our way here we found some of your people, hiding from the Wraith. They are in the protection of the rest of Major Lorne's team as we speak. We will get them safely away from here, you have my word."

"What? How many? How many of my people did you find?" Davos asked. He suddenly looked hopeful.

"Only four," Teyla had to admit. "But surely every life is precious?"

"It is not enough," Davos said, the hard expression returning to his face. "You have not done enough."

"But surely some of your people must have escaped?" Lorne said. "You must have sent people to the Stargate to dial Atlantis."

"We did," Davos replied. "But they did not return after having done so. I do not know if they are safe on another world, or in the hands of the Wraith."

"But why did you not just go with them yourself?" Teyla asked. "Why did you not simply attempt to lead your people through the Stargate to another world, where you would be safe? You could even have asked for asylum on Atlantis."

"And would you have granted it?" Davos said, looking deeply sceptical.

"Yes," Teyla replied, although Rodney could see that the justice didn't believe her. He knew, though, that Elizabeth _would_ have granted asylum to these people, despite everything that had happened. Teyla had been right when she'd said they wouldn't wish a culling on anyone. No matter if Rodney thought one or two people might actually deserve it…

"It matters not, in any case," Davos was saying dismissively. "I did not wish to leave. I will not abandon the rest of my people, this city, our way of _life_ to the Wraith. I will not give up."

Despite himself, Rodney felt a flicker of grudging respect for Davos. The justice's dedication to his people reminded Rodney of the way he himself felt about Atlantis. And the way John felt about it. And Elizabeth, and Teyla, and Ronon, and Carson, and Radek…

"But there's nothing left to protect now," Ronon said bluntly. "All your people are gone, and your city is destroyed."

"No thanks to the people of Atlantis," Davos replied rudely.

"Oh, for crying out loud," Rodney retorted. "Look, do you want our help, or don't you?"

"What help can you possibly give now?" Davos sneered.

"How about getting you and your friend here," Rodney gestured to Seldan, "out of the city in one piece?"

It was hard to miss the relief that flashed across the two Nimaanis' faces, although Davos was a little better at hiding it than Seldan. Still, it seemed that the justice was determined to disdain them until the very end.

"What makes you think we have need of you for that?" Davos asked loftily. "Lest you forget, we have our personal transportation devices. I believe you saw one in use during your first visit here."

"But Davos," Seldan said, "the devices will not transport us as far as the stone ring, you know this. They have only a limited range."

Rodney raised his eyebrows. "And how long do you think you'd last when your transporters dropped you out in the open, with Wraith darts circling overhead?" he said. "Hmmm…?"

"I'm sure we'd…" Davos blustered, but Rodney cut him off.

"No time at all," he said. "That's how long." Then he shrugged. "Or we could just leave you here, I suppose, cowering down here in your little hole until the building falls down on your heads. How will that help any of your people that are left?" Rodney shot Davos a withering look. "Some leader you turned out to be."

"If we are talking about leaders, then what about yours?" Davos challenged suddenly. "I cannot help but notice that Colonel Sheppard has been replaced." He gestured at Lorne. "Is he now 'cowering in a little hole' too, afraid to face the Wraith?"

Rodney clenched his fists. "Don't you dare accuse Colonel Sheppard of cowardice," he said in a low voice. "That man has got more bravery in one finger than you've got in your whole body. And besides, you know exactly why he's not here. It's all down to you and your barbaric, bigoted…"

"Dr. McKay!" Lorne stepped in front of him, and Rodney suddenly became aware that he'd been advancing on Davos, his voice raised almost to a shout. A hand on his shoulder told him that Ronon had very nearly had to restrain him too.

Lorne turned to Davos. "If you _do_ want our help, I would suggest you do not insult my commanding officer any further," he said, in a flat and expressionless voice.

There was a momentary tense pause, and then Davos nodded reluctantly, nonetheless looking annoyed. "I wish to live, yes."

Lorne smiled at him. It wasn't a particularly pleasant expression, and Rodney wondered for a moment if all soldiers were taught to use it. He'd seen the same expression on John's, Ronon's, and even Teyla's face on occasion.

"Well, as Dr. McKay has already mentioned, we can help you with that," the major said. "We have a ship outside the city. The rest of my team, and the four people we found in the city, are waiting there. It can take us all back through the Stargate to Atlantis."

There was another brief pause, and then Davos gestured impatiently towards the door. "Well, what are we waiting for?" he said. "We must leave immediately."

"Not so fast." Lorne held up a hand, and glanced briefly at Rodney. "There is the small matter of our deal."

"Deal?"

"We still desire the means to reverse what you have done to Colonel Sheppard," Teyla clarified.

"Oh, yes. That."

A look passed between Davos and Seldan, and Rodney narrowed his eyes in sudden suspicion. "What is it?" he asked. "What's going on?"

"I can assure you, it is nothing," Seldan began, sounding flustered.

"Representative Seldan may have been a little hasty in promising you those means," Davos said.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that we have no idea if the process can be reversed. We have never had cause to carry out such a procedure on our world."

"_What?_" Rodney wheeled on Seldan, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You lied to us." He resolutely ignored the fact that his finger was shaking, and the sudden nausea in his stomach.

"It was necessary," Seldan wailed. "We were being _culled_. We desperately needed your aid. And besides," he added, darting a venomous look at Davos, "I was only acting under orders."

Davos's face twisted in rage. "Why, you…"

"If you can't help us, then I don't see why we should help you," Rodney interjected. He didn't care about Seldan's fear, or Davos's anger. He only cared about helping John. And the Nimaani couldn't do anything about that, it seemed. "We should just leave you here, after all."

"Sounds good to me," Ronon said. Teyla and Lorne said nothing, but they didn't have to.

"Wait!" Davos sounded suddenly panicked. "You can't just leave us here. I thought your people weren't 'capable' of acts like this."

"We made a deal," replied Lorne simply, and Rodney hadn't realised the major's loyalty to his commanding officer ran _that_ deep, "And like Dr. McKay said, in this instance we help you, but _we_ don't get anything. That sounds like a pretty bad bargain to me."

Teyla still didn't say anything, but the expression on her face chilled Rodney suddenly. She wouldn't protest leaving these two to their fate.

"There might be something we can do!" Davos exclaimed desperately.

"Oh yes?" Rodney said sceptically. "Do tell."

"Here." Davos crossed to the bench closest to the chair in the centre of the room, picked up something from it and held it out to Rodney.

Rodney took it and examined it quickly. It was some kind of head-piece, with a thick band that went around the crown of the head, which had two metal plates attached. The inside of each plate had an electrode on it surrounded by a pattern of tiny crystals, and trailing from the back of the band was a long jumble of wires that were obviously meant to be attached to a power source.

He looked up at Davos. "Is this what I think it is?"

Davos nodded. "It is what we used on Colonel Sheppard," he confirmed. "The plates fit over the forehead above the right eye, and over the left temple. The, er, criminal is strapped into the chair while wearing the device, and it is used to manipulate aspects of brain function." He paused before continuing. "I spoke the truth when I told you we've never reversed the process, so I do not know if it _can_ be done. But with this you may be able to work it out for yourself."

"This can't be it, though," Rodney said, still suspicious. "This thing can't do all that by itself."

Seldan had moved to one of the computers, and now he turned, and also held out something to Rodney. It looked like a flash drive. "This holds the programming that accompanies the device," he said. "It contains the instructions needed for the device to make the neurological link with the brain, and search out the memories or functions we wish to manipulate."

_They just shoved me into a room and told me to think about what I'd done._ It turned out that had been pretty close to the truth after all, Rodney reflected bitterly.

He snatched the drive from Seldan, and pointedly didn't say thank you. "Is this it?" he said. "Is this all we need?"

"That is everything," Davos replied.

"What about this thing?" Ronon asked suddenly. He was standing next to a console isolated in the centre of the room. It was about a metre high, and was positioned about two metres in front of the chair.

"Oh, that?" Davos seemed unconcerned. "That aids the process, I'll admit, but it is not strictly necessary. You should be able to manage without it."

"Really?" Rodney looked at him penetratingly.

"I give you my word," Davos assured him.

Rodney thought for a moment. Right now, Davos's 'word' meant less than nothing to him, but the console was large and unwieldy, and most likely fixed to the floor. There was virtually no chance they could remove it from this room, never mind get it all the way to the puddle jumper under the threat of Wraith fire.

"Fine," he said shortly. "We'll leave it. But I expect you to tell me everything you know about how this torture implement of yours works once we're back on Atlantis."

Davos bristled, but seemed to sense that protesting Rodney's description of the device wasn't going to help his cause much. "Of course," he said stiffly.

"Well, if that's all we need, then can I suggest we get the hell out of here?" Lorne said.

He'd barely finished speaking when an explosion sounded, still muffled by their underground location, but obviously _much_ closer than any others so far. The whole room shook, and a faint shower of dust rained down on them from the ceiling.

There was a moment's silence, and then Rodney said faintly, "I second that motion."

Then Lorne was shepherding them all hastily towards the door, and they were hurrying back down the corridor, as another explosion, and then another, rocked the floor under their feet.

*~*~*~*~*

The journey back to the city gate was an exercise in hide-peer-mad dash-hide again. There were far fewer darts in the air now, but that probably had something to do with the fact that the Wraith now seemed intent on completely destroying what was left of the city. Apparently they'd come to the conclusion that they'd swept this all-you-can-eat buffet clean.

Frankly, Rodney considered it a miracle that the city hall was still standing when they'd emerged from it. More than once he'd been sure that they were all about to be crushed under tons of rubble, and when he'd realised that the rest of the buildings around the main square were now nothing more than scorched ruins, he'd counted his lucky stars all over again.

But they'd managed to make it back to the city gate in one piece – albeit a rather beat-up and bedraggled piece. Both Davos and Seldan were looking a little the worse for wear, their robes creased and dirty, and grime smeared across their faces. The Atlantis contingent looked similarly unkempt – Ronon had managed to tear the left leg of his trousers somehow, and Teyla had a nasty scratch on one cheek, caused by a piece of flying debris.

Rodney himself had escaped mostly unscathed, apart from the dirt, as had the brainwashing device (as he'd taken to calling it in his head) that he'd been cradling carefully in his arms. Still, he couldn't stop himself from wishing, for about the twentieth time, that Davos had been able to rustle up some more of those personal transporters from somewhere.

"Lieutenant Reeves, do you copy?" Lorne was speaking quietly into his radio, and Rodney could only just hear him above the continuing noise of explosions.

"We're at the city gate," Lorne confirmed. "Did you manage to get the civilians out safely?"

Reeves obviously responded in the affirmative, as a moment later, Lorne continued, "Good. We'll be coming to join you any moment. Keep the civilians out of the way – there are six more people to fit in the jumper now."

"Jumper?" Seldan was looking confused. "What is a jumper?"

"It is our ship," Teyla told him. "It will take us back to the Stargate."

Davos sneered. "I see no ship."

"That's because it's invisible," Rodney said, in his 'talking to morons' voice. "Obviously."

"I'll go first," said Lorne patiently. "Justice, Representative, you follow behind me with Dr. McKay. Just keep your eyes on us, and we'll lead you to the ship. Teyla and Ronon will be behind you. Everything will be fine."

Davos still looked sceptical, but nonetheless deigned to nod. Lorne was looking up, surveying the sky. Most of the darts had returned to the cruisers now, but there were a still a few scouting around for stragglers, probably more in hope than expectation.

"When I give the word, follow me immediately." Lorne held up a hand for a few seconds in the universal gesture to wait. The whine of the closest dart faded away, and the major gave a quick nod. "Okay, _now_."

As a group they dashed out from the shelter of the city gate. Rodney tried to stay with Davos and Seldan, shepherding them along even as his instincts demanded that he just run flat out for the puddle jumper. The two Nimaani were struggling along in their robes, the garments obviously not having been designed for running in, and Rodney resisted the urge to snap at them to hurry up. Not that he had any breath left for speaking anyway.

Then he heard Teyla call urgently from behind him.

"Rodney, Major Lorne, look out!"

He twisted his head round, praying that he didn't stumble over anything in front of him, and saw immediately what had prompted Teyla's warning. A dart was flying towards them across the city, its culling beam flickering across buildings, the city wall, and then the open ground outside it.

Teyla and Ronon were right behind Davos and Seldan now, pushing them along as much as they could, but Rodney could see that they weren't going to be fast enough. The jumper was still fifty metres away – too far to make it in time.

"Keep going, McKay!" Ronon bellowed, grabbing Davos's arm as the dart bore down on them.

Rodney had just time to see Teyla reach out for Seldan too, and then he was throwing himself aside as the beam swept through their little group. He almost imagined he felt a breeze ruffle his hair as the beam went past him, and then the dart was pulling up and away, disappearing into the night sky.

Rodney scrambled to his feet, turning to look behind him again, afraid that there would be nothing there, that Teyla and Ronon would have vanished.

But no, there they were, present and unculled. As were Davos and Seldan, although Rodney cared less about that.

He felt a wave of relief crash through him, strong enough that he had to brace one hand on his knee for a moment as he struggled to get his breath. The brainwashing device dangled from his other hand, and he gave it a quick once over, relieved again to find that he hadn't squashed or otherwise damaged it during his sudden dive to the floor. That would have been just his – and John's – luck.

"Get a move on! It'll be back any moment!"

Lorne's yell spurred Rodney into action, and he started stumbling towards the jumper again just as Teyla, Ronon, and the two Nimaani caught up with him. As a group they fell into the rear compartment of the ship, and as Rodney pushed his way shakily forward to the co-pilot's chair, past Lorne's team and miscellaneous Nimaani alike, he heard the hatch thud closed, cutting off the sound of the returning dart.

"Everyone here?" Lorne called back, as Rodney settled into his seat. A ragged chorus of affirmative replies answered his question, and the major nodded in satisfaction. "Well, then, let's get the hell out of here." He lifted the puddle jumper into the air, and pointed it away from the city. "Dial the gate, McKay."

Rodney was only too happy to comply.

*~*~*~*~*

John directed a friendly nod towards the marine on duty outside the door of the isolation room, although the smile he'd been planning to accompany it died on his lips as the man stepped forward, effectively blocking his path.

"Can I help you, sir?"

John tried the smile anyway. "I'm here to see our guests."

The marine shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm under orders not to let anyone in."

"Whose orders?"

"Dr. Weir's, sir. She was very specific. No one is allowed inside the room without her say so."

"Oh, well, that's all right, then," John said, smiling again. "Because she's on her way here right now. We're going in there to talk to our guests together. I guess she's just running a few minutes late, that's all. You can go ahead and let me in. It'll be fine."

The marine looked doubtful. "I don't know, sir. Dr. Weir was very clear."

John let a hint of steel colour his voice. "Would you like me to make _this_ an order, soldier?" he asked. "Because I'm sure Dr. Weir would be very disappointed to know that my men couldn't obey a direct order."

"Well, I…"

"Let me pass!" John barked, and was gratified to see the other man jump a little, and then hastily step back, allowing him access to the door. Pleased, he waved his hand over the locking mechanism, although he couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the marine – Elizabeth was not going to be impressed. Still, he justified to himself, it was really the SGC's fault for sending such gullible men – he made a mental note to request a less easily swayed contingent on the Daedalus's next run.

The door slid open with its customary gentle swoosh, and John nodded at the marine again, and then stepped inside the room before the man's obviously returning uncertainty could take effect.

He heard the door close behind him as he walked towards the table in the centre of the isolation room. Davos and Seldan were sitting at it, side by side, watching him as he approached. Seldan looked a little apprehensive, he noticed, but Davos's face was expressionless, if you didn't count the assessing flicker in his eyes.

John walked right up to his side of the table, and placed his hands flat on its surface, leaning forward slightly until he was looming over the two Nimaani. Seldan's apprehension increased, but Davos just continued to stare calmly back at him.

"What have you done to me?" John asked, in a low, distinct voice.

_There._ The flash of dismay that crossed Davos's face was brief, but noticeable, and John felt a grim satisfaction surge through him.

"What have you _done_ to me?" he asked again.

Davos lifted his chin in a manner eerily reminiscent of McKay, and looked challengingly at John. "We made you better," he said.

"Better?" John questioned, still in that same low voice. "Better than what, exactly?"

"Better than you were," Davos asserted. "You were impure."

"By whose standards? Yours? Well, I'm sorry to break it to you, but your standards mean squat to me."

It was ironic, John reflected to himself. For weeks he'd been fighting against everyone else's assertions that there was something wrong with him. If these two Nimaani had been brought to Atlantis only few days earlier, John wouldn't have felt like he needed to have this conversation. He wouldn't have realised it was necessary.

But now, despite the fact that he was still wasn't entirely sure what he wanted, that he was still confused and uncertain about what was going on, this conversation seemed _entirely_ necessary. He _had_ to find out what was going on.

"But our standards should be your standards now," Seldan said suddenly, and John turned his head slightly to look at the other Nimaani. "Why are you questioning this?"

John felt another surge of satisfaction as Davos glared angrily at Seldan. Clearly the representative was speaking out of turn.

"I'm remembering things," he said bluntly, noting how Seldan's eyes widened fractionally at the revelation. "Things that I'm sure you'd rather I _didn't_ remember."

"But…but…_how?_" Unexpectedly, the stunned question came from Davos, and John looked back at him again.

"I don't know. And I still don't know exactly what these memories mean. But what I _do_ know is that your people have done something to me against my will." John's voice took on a dangerous tone. "And now you're going to _undo_ it."

But far from being intimidated, Davos seemed to be recovering himself. "We have given your Dr. McKay the necessary technology," he said calmly. "And from what I understand, if he can't find a solution, then no one can. Perhaps you should be talking to him."

"Oh, believe me, I will be," John replied, hoping his discomfort wasn't showing. He'd barely seen McKay since the team had returned from M3X-587 several hours earlier. The look of fervent hope on the other man's face when he'd looked up from the device he was carrying and spotted John had been deeply unsettling, and John had quickly made his excuses and fled the gateroom, his thoughts and emotions in turmoil.

He'd half expected McKay to search him out, but so far that hadn't happened. Teyla had told John that McKay had immediately taken his newly acquired Nimaani prize to his lab to start work on it. The fact that said work was all for John's benefit was something he was trying not to think too deeply about. He'd finally concluded that he wanted whatever the Nimaani had done to him to be undone, but he wasn't quite ready yet to examine all the implications of that decision.

However, it now appeared that his luck had run out on that score. As if Davos's words had summoned him, the isolation room door suddenly slid open again, and McKay strode into the room, Elizabeth close behind him.

Both of them halted abruptly upon seeing John, McKay's face expressing surprise, while Elizabeth's mouth pursed disapprovingly. John stepped back from the table and held out his hands, trying to communicate his innocence to her.

_See, they're both still safe and sound._

Elizabeth's face relaxed slightly, although the look she sent him promised a _discussion_ later. He shrugged his acquiescence back at her.

McKay, meanwhile, had marched up to the table, and was waving something that John recognised as the Nimaani device under the noses of Davos and Seldan.

"This doesn't work," he said bluntly. "I've tried everything I know to get it operational, but I can't. The software you gave me appears functional, but even though I interfaced the headset with both the computer and a power source, nothing happened. I even resorted to putting the damn thing on to see if I could get some kind of reaction from it."

Elizabeth's gasp of "Rodney!" matched John's growled "_McKay_…", and McKay looked at them both quickly before rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Oh, please – how else did you expect me to test it?" He looked at Elizabeth again. "Somehow I doubt you would have been willing to provide a test subject."

"Well, of course not. But…"

"But nothing! I had no choice. You know how important this is."

McKay's eyes were back on John, and this time they stayed there. John squirmed uncomfortably under that gaze, wishing that McKay would look away. He hated being the focus of that much concentrated desperation.

"Rodney…" Elizabeth's voice was softer now, but it was enough to snap McKay out of whatever reverie he was stuck in, and he blinked a couple of times before turning back to the Nimaani.

"Anyway, like I said, it doesn't work. Tell me what I'm doing wrong."

"You aren't doing anything wrong." Davos's voice was smug, and John was suddenly getting a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"What do you mean, I'm not doing anything wrong?" McKay questioned, but it was obvious from the expression on his face that he was coming to the same conclusion as John.

"Naturally, the device doesn't work," Davos continued serenely. "And that is because I didn't give you all the components."

"_What?_" McKay exploded.

For a moment John thought he was going to have to restrain him. You learned to recognise imminent violence in his line of work, and right now McKay looked like he was about to launch himself across the table and start pummelling the two Nimaani into oblivion.

But before he could reach out and grab McKay's arm, the scientist visibly brought himself under control. His breathing was still heavy, his face was still red, and looking down John could see that the hand not holding the Nimaani device was clenched into a fist. However the urge towards violence seemed to have passed, and John let his own hand drop back to his side, although he remained watchful.

"What exactly did you leave out?" McKay asked, in a tight, angry voice. "You told me this headset and the software was all I needed."

"And you believed me," replied Davos, still sounding smug. "Do you remember the console we left behind? It may be more necessary to the process than I implied."

He smiled triumphantly at John and McKay, and John suddenly felt the desire to commit some violence of his own. He reined it in and remained utterly still.

"Explain."

Elizabeth's voice came as something of a shock – John had almost forgotten she was there. A second later Elizabeth herself appeared in his field of vision, standing at the end of the table so she could look between the Nimaani sitting on one side of it, and John and McKay standing on the other.

"Explain how this console aids the process," Elizabeth continued. Her tone and expression allowed for no denials and no prevaricating, and John had to fight the smile that was tugging at his mouth. Davos and Seldan would be sorely mistaken if they thought Dr. Weir would be a pushover.

Davos hesitated for a moment, and then the urge to fully explain his triumph obviously won out. "You cannot just put the head-piece on, power it up, and expect it to influence a person's mind," he said. "Even working in tandem with the correct software it is not capable of that. The mind has to be in a receptive state in order to be affected, and that is where the console device aids the process. It projects images of carefully calibrated patterns and colours into the air, that draw the focus of the eye and by extension soothes the brain into a torpid state that can be affected by the neurological influence of the head-piece and its programming."

"Oh my god, I'm so stupid," McKay muttered, understanding crossing his features. "Why on earth did I believe these cretins? I should have made Ronon carry the damn thing back to the jumper, no matter how heavy it was." He turned to Elizabeth. "We have to go back to M3X-587 and fetch it."

But Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm sorry, Rodney, but I can't sanction that," she said. "You only just escaped from there the last time. And besides," she continued firmly, overriding the protest that McKay was obviously about to make, "do you really think that this device will still be there for you to find? From what you all told me in the mission debriefing, it's unlikely that the Wraith will have left any part of the city standing. The device is most likely destroyed by now."

McKay's shoulders slumped. "You're probably right." Then his head lifted again. "Well, in that case, we'll just have to construct our own version. I'm sure the Ancients must have had similar devices to aid them in achieving the mental states necessary for ascension. Or maybe we could even get Teyla to teach the colonel meditation – that would probably make his mind receptive enough."

"I think not, Dr. McKay," Davos interjected. "Like I said, the patterns the console projects are very carefully calibrated. They are designed to work on very specific areas of the brain in very specific ways. I doubt you could replicate the effect exactly enough, even with your 'Ancient' technology and all the meditation in the world. And I certainly will not tell you the secret."

"Of course you won't," McKay said bitterly. Then he gave Davos and Seldan a narrow-eyed look. "Although I'm sure we could find a way of making you tell us…"

"Rodney!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "We will do no such thing."

McKay rolled his eyes. "Of course we wouldn't," he said. "But you didn't have to let _them_ know that." He jerked his head at the Nimaani. "You've ruined my plan now."

John somehow doubted that McKay's 'plan' would have worked anyway. Seldan might have looked a bit flustered there for a moment, but Davos had remained completely unruffled. It would take more than a couple of idle threats to get to this guy.

He hesitated, and then sighed. Confession time. "You may not need this other device anyway, McKay," he said quietly. "In fact, you might not need any of the Nimaani technology at all."

McKay gave him a sharp look, and peripherally he was aware of Elizabeth doing the same. "What do you mean?" McKay asked.

John hesitated again, and then gave himself a mental shake. There was no turning back now. "As I was telling our guests here before you arrived, and which they appear to have _forgotten_," he said, "I've started remembering things."

"You…_what?_" McKay looked stunned. "What kind of things?"

"That's not important right now," said John uncomfortably, trying to stop his mind presenting him with images that he'd rather not consider at this moment, with McKay standing right in front of him. "The point is that the process seems to be reversing on its own."

McKay was still gaping at him, although his shocked expression was rapidly morphing into one of hope. John was almost grateful when Elizabeth spoke before McKay could start questioning him again.

"How long has this been going on, John?" she asked.

"Not long," John replied, unwilling to admit that it had been nearly two weeks since that first odd dream. "And I haven't remembered a whole lot, either," he added quickly, correctly anticipating her next question.

Elizabeth changed tack. "Why didn't you tell anyone about this? I'm assuming you _haven't_ told anyone about this? Not even Carson or Dr. Heightmeyer?"

"No," said John. "I haven't. I'm sorry, but I didn't know what was going on. It was weird, and I was confused." He shifted position slightly. "I suppose I just didn't want to admit that you were all right when you said something was wrong with me."

Elizabeth looked at him sympathetically for a moment, and then turned her attention back to the two Nimaani, her expression hardening. "Well, it looks like we won't be requiring your assistance any more after all, gentlemen," she said.

Davos looked annoyed, while Seldan stared fixedly at the tabletop. "You had no right to send a person such as _him_ to our world…" the justice started disdainfully.

"No." Elizabeth's voice was a whip-crack. "_You_ had no right to violate one of my personnel in the manner that you did. You had no right to beat him and twist his mind in this way. We may have saved you from the Wraith, but make no mistake – that does not mean we have forgiven you, and that does _not_ make us allies or friends in any way. You will remain our guests here on Atlantis for the time-being, but only until we have decided what to do with you."

"You cannot keep us here against our will," Davos said angrily. "We are not your prisoners. We have done nothing wrong."

"You may not think so, but _I_ do," replied Elizabeth coldly. "And as far as I can see, you're in no position to argue. Good day, gentlemen."

She turned towards the door. "Colonel Sheppard, Dr. McKay, we will continue this conversation in my office."

*~*~*~*~*

"I need you to tell me, John," Elizabeth said, as soon as they'd all sat down. "I need specifics. We need to decide if what's happening to you is enough. If it'll work _completely_."

John grimaced, but nodded to the necessity of her question. He could feel McKay vibrating with excitement beside him, could almost hear the cogs in McKay's brain turning as he tried to work out _how_ this had happened, and whether, as Elizabeth said, it would be _enough_.

"It started about a week and a half ago," he began awkwardly, directing his explanation to Elizabeth and trying – unsuccessfully – to ignore McKay's presence. "It wasn't so much that I actually _remembered_, but I started having dreams. Dreams about McKay and I."

McKay drew in a sharp, startled breath, and there went any chance of pretending he wasn't there. Nonetheless, John kept his eyes on Elizabeth as he continued talking.

"I've only had maybe four of them, and to start with there wasn't anything particularly significant about them. We were just hanging out, either in our quarters, or one time when we stayed overnight on an off-world mission. Except that I knew, really, that there was something more going on under the surface. Something that I wasn't willing to acknowledge." He tried for a wry smile, although he was fairly sure he was about a galaxy wide of the mark. "I think I always woke up before anything truly incriminating happened. I reckon it was probably a defence mechanism of the neurological conditioning."

"But this 'defence mechanism' became less active over time." It wasn't a question, but John nodded reluctantly at Elizabeth.

"Yes. A few days ago, I had another dream…memory…whatever. And all the under-the-surface stuff was suddenly rather obviously _on_ the surface, if you take my meaning."

He shifted in his chair, embarrassed, and saw that Elizabeth's cheeks had gone a rather delicate shade of pink.

"I understand," she replied, as calmly as she could.

McKay made a choked noise, as if he'd been about to ask something, and then stopped himself. When he did eventually speak, his voice was almost preternaturally steady, although John could still hear the strain in it.

"Was there anything else unusual about this dream, er, dreams?" McKay asked. "Anything that might indicate why you suddenly started having them?"

"I don't know," said John slowly. "I don't _think_ so. They just sort of…started. No warning or anything." He scrunched up his brow as he thought hard, staring at Elizabeth's desk because that was easier than looking at McKay. "Well, there is one thing…" He trailed off, sure it was going to sound stupid.

"Yes, John?" Elizabeth's voice was gently encouraging.

"After I woke up, I noticed that…well, I noticed that Atlantis seemed happier. With me, I mean."

"Happier?"

"The city's been in a bit of a snit with me these past few weeks," John explained sheepishly. "Nothing I could put my finger on, so it didn't seem worth bringing it up. It's just felt like she's been giving me the cold shoulder a little, that's all. But since I've been having the dreams, she's mellowed a bit."

"Of course!" McKay snapped his fingers, the sudden noise making Elizabeth jump. "Atlantis! Why didn't I think of that before? Oh, I am so _stupid!_"

"Would you care to explain to the rest of the class, Rodney?" Elizabeth said, smiling a little.

"What? Oh, yes, fine." McKay glanced rapidly between Elizabeth and John, as if he couldn't decide whom to address himself too. Finally, he settled on John. "It must have something to do with the ATA gene, and the way it allows Sheppard to connect to Atlantis," he said. "The Nimaani brainwashing obviously affected that connection, albeit in a seemingly minor way, and Atlantis has been trying to repair the problem and reassert the link. That's why the memories have been gradually coming back."

"But Rodney," Elizabeth said, obviously trying to sound reasonable. "The ATA gene is just that – a _gene_. It allows you to interface with Ancient technology, nothing more."

John shook his head minutely. Elizabeth didn't have the gene, so she couldn't understand what it was like. She couldn't understand what it was like to have that technology – to have _Atlantis_ – respond to nothing more than a thought. She couldn't understand what it felt like when John sat in the control chair, and saw the whole of the galaxy spread out behind his closed eyelids, and knew that the city could read his intentions before he even really knew them himself.

It was more than just a gene.

"The control chair!" McKay seemed to be having a revelation every other minute now, and with this one he appeared to have read John's mind into the bargain. "Oh my god, I really did drink the stupid-making coffee this morning…"

"Rodney…" Elizabeth sounded faintly exasperated now. "What _about_ the control chair?"

"Yes, yes, all right." McKay sounded annoyed too, probably at having to explain himself to the lesser mortals, John reflected wryly. "We don't have one of the pieces of Nimaani technology necessary to reverse what's been done to the colonel's brain, right?"

"Yes, Rodney, we're all aware of that."

"Well, I think if Sheppard sits in the control chair, and I hook the Nimaani headset up to it, and interface their software, they can all work together to do what we need. Atlantis will sort of clear the way, if you like, so that the Nimaani technology can do its work." McKay's voice dropped to a mutter. "I _thought_ the chair in that torture chamber of theirs reminded me of the one here. I am so _stupid_ not to have thought of this sooner."

"Are you sure this will work, Rodney?" Elizabeth asked. "Do you have a firm enough grasp of the Nimaani technology? You could just make things worse."

"Oh, it's child's play," McKay replied, waving an airy hand at her. "I had no problem understanding the software Davos gave us, or how the neural interface actually _works_. I just couldn't get it _to_ work because we didn't have all the pieces. But now we have something we can use instead, not a problem."

"John?" Elizabeth looked at him kindly. "What do you think?"

John swallowed. Things suddenly seemed to be moving very fast. "Is this really necessary?" he said, knowing he sounded like he was wussing out, and hating himself for it. "I mean the memories _do_ seem to be coming back on their own."

"But not nearly fast enough," McKay pronounced. "You say you've had, what, four dreams in a week and a half? At that rate we'll all be old and grey before you remember everything."

John thought about pointing out that McKay was hardly an unbiased bystander in all of this – he had a vested interest in getting John to remember, after all. But that wouldn't be fair, John realised. Of _course_ McKay had a vested interest, and John had seen enough in his dreams to know exactly what it was that McKay was trying to get back. It suddenly occurred to him that McKay must have been going through a pretty hefty amount of shit these past few weeks, and that thought made up his mind.

"You're right," he said, looking directly at McKay for the first time since they'd walked into Elizabeth's office. "It's not fast enough." He took a deep breath as he watched the utter _relief_ spread across McKay's face. "Let's do it."

*~*~*~*~*

Breathing slowly and steadily, John unclenched his hands from around the arms of the control chair and forced himself to relax. The band of the Nimaani neurological device felt like a constriction around his head, its two protruding metal plates cool and oddly alien-feeling against his skin. He resisted the urge to just tear it off, and instead tried to settle back in the chair. As he stared up at the ceiling he could feel the hum of Atlantis in the back of his mind, clearer than it had been for weeks, and he let it reassure him. Atlantis wouldn't let anything happen to him.

And the city wasn't the only one. John let his gaze drift downwards and across the room until he could see the three men clustered in front of the laptop set up on a bench. McKay, Zelenka, and Beckett had obviously worked through the night to set everything up, and while John could have told them there was no rush, he was pretty sure they would all have ignored him. Especially McKay.

Still, despite the speed with which everything had been accomplished, John found that he trusted them to have got everything right. But then, hadn't that always been the case? He'd trust any of them with his life – _had_ trusted them with it, on more than one occasion – and knew they returned the sentiment.

They wouldn't let anything happen to him either. McKay wouldn't let anything happen to him.

Beckett detached himself from the group and walked over to the chair. "Everything's nearly ready, Colonel," he said cheerfully. "Just relax."

"I am relaxed," John replied, and then realised he was speaking through gritted teeth. Beckett merely raised his eyebrows at him and grinned.

"Rodney and Radek are just double-checking the software one last time, and then I think we'll be ready to begin." Beckett chuckled and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I think Rodney's still smarting from having to admit that he needed my help with the medical side of things."

"I heard that." McKay had come up behind Beckett, and was attempting to shoo him out of the way. "And it wasn't your _help_ I was after – merely your confirmation."

"Of course, Rodney," replied Beckett serenely, winking at John. "Although I wouldn't have let you go messing around with my patient's brain without offering my input anyway."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure the whole process will benefit _greatly_ from your voodoo 'input'," McKay muttered. He made shooing motions at Beckett again. "Now, if you could _please_ get out of the way, I need to check the interfaces on the chair."

Beckett winked again, and then good-naturedly moved to one side. McKay immediately crouched down beside the chair, the top of his head only just visible above the arm, and busied himself examining the connection between the chair, the Nimaani headset John was wearing, and a second laptop set up on a small table next to the chair.

"Everything all right there, McKay?" John forced himself to ask after a few seconds.

"Everything's fine," McKay replied, his voice slightly muffled. "I just want to be one hundred percent sure before we start."

"It can't be that hard, surely," said John, suddenly unable to resist teasing McKay. "Just plug it in and away we go."

McKay's head shot up suddenly, only narrowly avoiding an impact with the edge of the table. "Oh yes, of course, it's _easy_," he retorted, in a tone of withering sarcasm. "Interfacing three different kinds of technology is a _piece of cake_."

John smirked, and after a couple of seconds McKay caught up with things and scowled at him. "Oh ha ha, very funny, Colonel," he snapped.

But the expression in his eyes was suddenly anything but annoyed, and for a long moment they just stared at each other.

Then the door to the chair room slid open, admitting Elizabeth, and McKay ducked his head again rapidly.

Elizabeth made her way over to the chair, stepping up on to the podium and smiling down at John. "How's everything going in here?" she asked.

"They tell me we're nearly ready," John replied lightly. He flexed his fingers a little against the sudden urge to renew his death grip on the chair's arms.

"We _are_ ready," said McKay abruptly, standing up and turning his attention to the laptop on the table. "Everything's set up."

"Wonderful." Elizabeth looked at John again. "Good luck," she said softly. "I'll be waiting just over there."

John nodded, even as part of him couldn't help but wish that she would leave altogether. Although they were confident that everything would work correctly, neither McKay, Zelenka, or Beckett could predict exactly how the process would proceed. Beckett had regretfully informed him that he couldn't be sure whether it would hurt or not, and since John himself still couldn't remember how things had gone when he'd had his brain tampered with in the first place, he couldn't be much help in that regard either.

But if it _was_ going to hurt, or affect him in some other overt manner, he'd prefer that as few people saw it as possible. McKay and Zelenka had to be here, obviously, as did Beckett, in case he should be needed for medical reasons. But John had asked Teyla and Ronon to stay away, something that they'd agreed to readily – Teyla had given his hand a reassuring squeeze, while Ronon had slapped him heartily on the back and said, "No problem."

He knew that Elizabeth would probably leave if he asked her to. However, he also knew that she felt it was her duty, as leader of the expedition, to look out for the welfare of all the people under her command, and therefore she felt she had, not a right, as such, but a responsibility to watch over him. And because he understood that – probably better than she even understood it herself – John couldn't ask her to go.

"Right, let's get this show on the road," McKay said. He cracked his knuckles, and then tapped a few keys on the laptop.

Beckett moved back into John's field of vision. "Just relax," he said, repeating his earlier advice. "It's an appalling cliché, I know, but just try to go with the flow. I'll be right here if anything goes wrong."

"Yes, just let Atlantis do its thing," McKay put in eagerly. "Don't try to fight anything." He gave John a sideways look. "Are you ready?" he asked then, in a much softer voice.

John took a breath. "Yes," he said, "I'm ready."

Afterwards, he was hard pressed to explain exactly what had happened. Sometimes he wanted to describe it like waves breaking on the beach, depositing a little more information with every backwash, a slow and measured process that gradually restored him to himself. And yet at the same time it was as if something had snapped back into place all at once, like a stretched rubber band pinging back to its original shape when it was let go.

It was both a trickle and a flood, an accretion and an explosion, a lifetime of learning and instant knowledge.

All he really knew was that, after an indeterminate amount of time, he became aware of Beckett's voice speaking to him urgently, asking him was he all right, and to please open his eyes.

John took a couple more seconds to gather himself, and then obeyed, blinking a couple of times until Beckett's worried face came into focus.

"Colonel?" Beckett said. "Are you with us?"

"Yep," John replied, surprised to find his voice hoarse. "I'm here."

"Are you in any pain?"

"No." He moved his head experimentally. "Maybe a little dizzy, though."

"Just lie still for a few moments – hopefully that will pass," Beckett said reassuringly.

"Colonel Sheppard." That was Zelenka. "I must ask you – did it work?"

He hesitated for a moment, and heard Elizabeth's voice asking worriedly, "John? Are you all right?"

"Yes," he said. "It worked."

Ignoring Beckett's advice, John turned his head slowly, his gaze searching out Rodney where he had last seen him standing in front of the laptop, his eyes hunting eagerly, greedily, needing to see Rodney's reaction.

But Rodney wasn't there. John exerted himself further and looked around the room. But the only people he could see were Zelenka, Beckett, and Elizabeth.

Rodney was gone.

*~*~*~*~*

Running away was a cowardly thing to do, he knew that. But when it came right down it, he'd suddenly realised he was frightened. No, more than frightened. He was _terrified_. Terrified that, despite all his assurances and all his confidence, it wouldn't work. That John would open his eyes again and nothing would have changed. That he _still_ wouldn't remember, and worse, that he'd still think…

Rodney sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face tiredly. He'd long since stopped working on the simulations on the laptop in front of him, if indeed he'd ever started. He wasn't sure how long he'd been holed up here in his lab, but he was surprised that no one had come to find him yet. He'd expected Elizabeth to send someone after him when he bolted, but apparently he hadn't given her enough credit. Maybe she'd recognised his need to escape and generously allowed him his space.

Or maybe she just couldn't be bothered to haul him back because Zelenka was perfectly capable of explaining what was going on. Much as it pained him to admit that.

He might have expected _someone_ to show up by now, though. If not Elizabeth, then maybe Carson. Or at least Zelenka. Rodney frowned to himself. There was giving a guy his space, and then there was ignoring a friend when they were clearly going through extreme emotional stress. Some friends they were.

But maybe they didn't know what to say to him, Rodney thought suddenly. Maybe the process hadn't worked, just like he'd feared, and they couldn't work out how to tell him that John wasn't cured. Maybe they thought he was better off living in blissful ignorance of the result for as long as possible.

Or _maybe_ something else had happened. Rodney's mind abruptly made the hop, skip, and a jump to the worst-case scenario. Maybe John had been hurt by the process. He'd seemed all right when Rodney had left, but who knew what that jury rigged collection of Earth, Ancient, and Nimaani technology had done to him. Maybe it had made things worse. Maybe John had brain damage. Maybe he was lying in the infirmary in a critical condition, and everyone was so busy dealing with him that they'd forgot to come and find Rodney. Forgot to tell him that John was dying…

Unable to deal with the not-knowing for a moment longer, Rodney started scrabbling through the detritus on the lab bench, looking for his radio. He'd call Elizabeth, or maybe Carson, and find out what had happened. Even if it was bad, he had to _know_.

But just as his fingers lighted on the radio, someone spoke.

"Rodney."

Time froze, for just a second, and then Rodney felt the relief swamp him, washing away the worst-case scenario and silencing the ever more frantic imaginings of his mind.

He turned, and there was John, standing in the doorway, slouched against the doorframe in that casual manner of his that wasn't casual at all, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, and then John shifted awkwardly, straightening up and taking a step into the room. One step, and no more.

"It wasn't me, you know."

The words confirmed everything Rodney had been hoping for, and should have made him deliriously happy, but instead, suddenly, he was angry. Angry, and oh so tired.

"I know," he replied flatly, turning back to his laptop, hiding his face. "It still hurt, though. To be looked at that way. Like I was…like I was something dragged in on someone's shoe."

"Rodney, I…"

"Not that I haven't been on the receiving end of it before, of course." Rodney bulldozed right over what he knew would be an apology, unwilling to hear it. "My peers would never have dared use my sexuality as a weapon against me, but they weren't shy about letting me know what they thought about it." He took a breath. "Not that I let it bother me in any way. I was better than them – what did I care what they thought?"

"That sounds like the Rodney I know and…well, that sounds like you," John agreed.

"Never expected to see it on your face though," Rodney finished quietly. "Not that."

There was the briefest of pauses, and then John sighed. "And I wish you hadn't had to," he said, in a low voice. He took another step into the room. "But that wasn't _me_," he repeated. "I couldn't help it."

Rodney nodded quickly, jerkily. "It's all right."

"No, it's not," John insisted. "But can't we…" He looked a little bit desperate. "Can't we make it be all right? Won't you let me prove to you that I'm back? That I'm _me_ again?"

Rodney put out his hands to ward John off, even though John hadn't come any closer. "I'm tired," he said abruptly, obviously puzzling John with the non-sequitur. "Going from Lantean morning to Nimaani night, back to Lantean afternoon again, and then working through the night has completely screwed up my body clock. I need to sleep."

"Oh, okay."

"And anyway, shouldn't you be in the infirmary being checked out by Carson? Or talking to Elizabeth or something?" Rodney looked at John suddenly, sharply. "Oh my god, you've pulled a jailbreak, haven't you? They're going to be going out of their minds, wondering where the hell you are. Elizabeth's most likely got the whole of Atlantis on alert by now. Lorne's probably got squads of marines scouring the city for you. Any minute they're going to burst in here and…"

"Rodney." John sounded faintly amused, and was obviously struggling to keep a smile off his face. "Elizabeth knows exactly where I am. Beckett's given me a quick check-up and pronounced me essentially fine, although he wants to do a bunch more tests later." His voice softened suddenly. "They understood that I needed to come and find you."

"Oh." Rodney blinked. Then, "I need to sleep," he said again stubbornly. "I'm sorry, but I just really, really need to…"

"Sleep," John finished for him. "It's okay, I understand."

"Right, good." Rodney nodded at him, and then started making his way towards the door, keeping as much space between him and John as he could as he shuffled past the other man.

But right on the threshold, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. John hadn't turned, so Rodney couldn't see his face, but he could tell that John was unhappy by the set of his shoulders and the rigidity of his spine.

"Just give me some time, okay?" Rodney said quietly. "I just need some time."

*~*~*~*~*

At Elizabeth's nod, John dropped into one of the chairs in front of her desk, slouching down a little and draping his right arm over the back of it. He'd long ago learned that being asked to sit in offices, conference rooms, and the like indicated that he was going to be there for a while, and therefore it was best to get comfortable. Not that he'd been asked to sit all that often by any of his previous commanding officers – they'd much preferred to keep him standing to attention while they berated him for his latest screw-up.

Happily, Elizabeth was different, and always kept plenty of chairs in her office precisely for the purpose of making people feel at ease. Not that that necessarily meant they weren't going to get berated for something. John tensed slightly at that thought – was he about to get reprimanded for something, after all?

"There's been a development related to our Nimaani guests," Elizabeth began, and John cautiously relaxed again. This didn't sound like a telling-off.

"Oh yeah?"

Elizabeth smiled at him. "It would appear that some people _did_ manage to escape from M3X-587 before Lorne and the others arrived there," she continued. "They dialled out to a planet inhabited by one of their trading contacts, and took refuge there."

"How do you know about this?" John asked. "From what I understand, Davos was unsure if any of his people had escaped through the Stargate."

"Because they contacted us earlier today, looking for any other survivors," Elizabeth replied.

"Contacted us? You mean, through the Stargate? But how did they know the address?"

"One of them was the man Justice Davos sent to dial the Stargate when the Nimaani contacted Atlantis to ask for our help. Apparently, after carrying out his orders, he decided that it was too dangerous to stay, so he dialled somewhere else and escaped the culling. And he took a fair number of people with him."

"How many?"

"About fifty, so I'm told," said Elizabeth. "Which isn't that many, I'll grant you, but considering we thought that the six Nimaani we have here on Atlantis were all that survived the Wraith attack, this is a far better outcome than might have been expected."

John nodded slowly. "So what's going to happen now?" he asked. "Are we going to bring the rest of the Nimaani here or…?" He tried not to let his resistance to that idea show. Objectively, he knew that the Nimaani population at large weren't responsible for what had happened to him, but even so, it was likely that most of them subscribed to the same set of morals and cultural taboos that had led to his 'punishment', and therefore he wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of having any of them in close proximity to himself.

"No, we're not," Elizabeth said, and John was relieved to note her own distaste for the idea, present in her tone and in the minute narrowing of her eyes. "The Ichim – the people of the planet they went to – have agreed to take the Nimaani in on a more permanent basis. I've agreed that Davos, Seldan, and the family Lorne's team rescued will join them there later today."

Raising his eyebrows, John sat up a little straighter. "You're letting Davos and Seldan go?" he questioned. "Really?"

Elizabeth suddenly looked tired. "What would you have me do, John?" she said. "Keep them here indefinitely? I could do that. They assaulted one of my people. I could have them tried and punished according to our laws for that. But do we really want to go down that road? If we started trying to mete out justice on every off-world race that attacked us and ours, we'd never see the end of it."

"And I'm pretty sure a lot of them wouldn't stand still to receive 'justice' in any case," John said, smiling wryly.

Elizabeth chuckled slightly. "You may have a point there," she acknowledged. Then she turned serious again. "And besides, do you really want either of them to remain here in Atlantis as a constant reminder of what happened, John? I'm not sure that you do."

John sighed. "No, you're right," he said. "I don't. That's the last thing I want." He made a shooing motion in the direction of the Stargate. "Get rid of them. Best thing all around." Then he grimaced. "Although I hope the Ichim know what they're getting themselves into."

"I'm sure they do," Elizabeth replied. "I understand they have traded with the Nimaani for a long time. Their eyes are open."

"Good. Well, if that's everything, perhaps I should go and say farewell to our guests. I could assist them through the Stargate with my boot on their asses."

"It's _not_ all, John," Elizabeth said seriously, and John, who had half-raised himself from his chair, sat back down again with a suppressed sigh. Apparently _this_ was the part with the telling-off.

"We need to talk about something else," Elizabeth continued, looking him straight in the eye.

"Let me guess – me and Rodney." John thought about pointing out that, right at this moment, he wasn't sure if there _was_ a him and Rodney to be talking about, but he sensed this argument wouldn't cut much ice with Elizabeth.

"Yes, John. I'm sorry, but we have to discuss this."

"Fine, let's get it over with, then," John muttered, sinking lower in his seat and fixing his eyes on a point somewhere over Elizabeth's left shoulder.

Elizabeth's expression softened a little. "Rodney _had_ to tell me about the two of you, you know that, don't you?"

"Of course. I understand that. It was necessary at the time." John frowned. "Have you told the SGC yet?"

"No." Elizabeth sounded surprised. "And I'm not going to. This isn't about your sexual orientation, John," she said, and suddenly John just wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. "As far as I'm concerned, those rules don't apply out here. We're in a unique situation here, and the last thing we need is to start acting like people such as the Nimaani."

Now it was John's turn to be surprised. "Really? You're not going to put something in my record or anything?"

"No," Elizabeth repeated. Then she smiled slightly. "Although I'd recommend you don't broadcast it around. You are still Air Force, and what's more you're the military commander of this expedition. I don't pretend to know your men as well as you do, and I hope there's no one here who would take offence at such things, but you can't be too careful. But then, I suspect I'm preaching to the choir here."

"You sure are," John told her. Then he sat forward a little, making sure Elizabeth could see the sincerity in his eyes. "Thank you," he said. "Not everyone would have been so understanding."

"Well, you're among friends here, John," Elizabeth replied. "And as I think I told you before, none of them will judge you."

"Yes, well, like you also said, you can't be too careful. Not in my line of work." Then John realised something. "So if that's not the problem, what is?"

"Simply put, the problem is Rodney," Elizabeth replied.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Well, less Rodney specifically, and more the fact that he's on your team," Elizabeth amended. "Fraternisation with subordinates isn't a good idea, as I'm sure you know."

"Rodney's civilian, not military," John pointed out.

"I know that, but he's still directly under your command every time you go on a mission," Elizabeth countered. "And that creates a conflict of interest. I'm not sure I can rely on you to be objective – what if you found yourself in a situation where you have to choose between Rodney, and something else? Like, say, the fate of a whole people? Or other members of the expedition?"

John bit back another sigh. It looked like he was going to have to set the record straight. "Elizabeth," he said carefully, "how long do you imagine Rodney and I have been…well, together?"

"Oh. I…I really don't know," Elizabeth replied. It was obvious it wasn't something she'd considered.

"Well, let me just tell you, it's been a while," John said. "_Quite_ a while. And in all that time, have you ever seen any evidence that I've put Rodney above the fate of the mission or the expedition?"

"Well…"

"Okay, okay, let me rephrase that. When it comes to the welfare of my team – of my _friends_ – I wouldn't do anything for him that I wouldn't also do for any of them. And that includes you, by the way."

Elizabeth smiled, and inclined her head. "Thank you, John."

"And besides," John grinned, "let's face it – most of the time I have to save other people from _him_ and his ZPM obsession!"

Laughing, Elizabeth nodded. "I take your point."

"You're just going to have to trust that I can do this, Elizabeth," John said, his voice suddenly soft, and yes, a little bit pleading. "It'll be fine. It _is_ fine."

"All right, I'll trust you," Elizabeth replied. "I'm sure you know what you're doing. But please understand, John, I will have to keep an eye on this. And if I think things are getting out of control, you and I will be having this discussion again."

"I'll bear that in mind."

"Just be careful, John. Please."

"I will," John promised. _We both will_, he almost added, but he'd suddenly remembered again that he wasn't sure if there even was a 'we' any more. Elizabeth might be worrying about nothing, after all.

But he really, really hoped not.

*~*~*~*~*

Contrary to what he'd said to Elizabeth, John _didn't_ go and see their Nimaani guests before they left. He could have done. He could have warned them to treat their Ichim saviours with more tolerance than they'd shown towards him. He could have threatened them with dire retribution if they didn't. He could have told them of his desire to shove them through the Stargate to a Wraith outpost, where the soul-sucking space vampires could have finished what they'd started on M3X-587.

But he didn't. Instead he went to see Beckett (who ran more types of scans on him that John knew existed), dutifully kept his latest appointment with Heightmeyer (Elizabeth was insisting he continue his sessions with Kate until she deemed he'd worked through his 'issues'), sparred with Teyla (although he was sure she was going easy on him), and had a meeting with Lorne to officially take back the reins of leadership (the look of relief on the major's face was almost comical – the understanding in his eyes less so).

Late that afternoon, however, he found himself drawn to the gateroom anyway to watch the departure of Davos, Seldan, and the other Nimaani. He remained up on the control room balcony as Elizabeth, Teyla, and Lorne sent them on their way, the gratitude from the rescued family as effusive as the officials' was absent. Just before Davos stepped through the event horizon, he turned back, his eyes finding John watching silently before they narrowed into an expression of dislike and disgust.

John merely stared stonily back at him until Davos looked away again, and walked through the Stargate, Seldan following closely behind.

"Well, that's that, then."

Ronon came and leaned on the balcony rail beside him, directing a look of 'good riddance' down at the now disengaged Stargate.

John nodded tiredly. "Yeah," he said. "That's that."

Rodney hadn't appeared at all.

There wasn't much left to do with his day after that. John had dinner with Teyla and Ronon, the fourth member of their team still conspicuously absent, and then excused himself when he couldn't bear their sympathetic looks any more. He thought about going for a run, or perhaps hitting a few golf balls off one of the piers, but ultimately couldn't summon up the enthusiasm or energy for either. Normally in this situation he'd go and bug Rodney in his lab until the other man caved and agreed to watch a movie with him, or play chess, or something.

But that option was out too.

At a loose end, John drifted towards his quarters. It looked like he'd be resorting to a book and an early night. His lips twisted into a wry smile as he walked. Oh, the excitement of an evening on Atlantis.

When he reached his quarters, he waved his hand listlessly over the door crystals, stepping forward as the door slid open. He halted just inside, frowning a little as the lights didn't come up immediately, and then nearly had a heart attack as a voice spoke out of the darkness.

"I was afraid."

"Jesus, Rodney!" John realised that his hand had gone for the gun he wasn't carrying, and he clenched it into a fist as he determinedly thought _on on on_ at the lights.

Almost grudgingly, the room illuminated, and John saw Rodney sitting on the end of his bed, eyes cast down as if the floor was the most interesting thing in this galaxy or any other.

"How did you get in here?" John asked, saying the first thing that came into his head.

That got a reaction, albeit a minor one. Rodney's lips compressed into a thin, irritated line. "What, you think _you're_ the only one Atlantis will roll over for?" he replied bitterly. "It's not just you who has the gene, you know." Then he seemed to feel moved to a confession. "Plus, I'm a whiz at hacking door controls."

That extracted a small huff of laughter from John, and even Rodney smiled a little, although he still didn't raise his eyes.

"Yes, you are," John told him sincerely. Then he cleared his throat, and unwillingly said, "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but why are you here?"

This was going to go one of two ways, he figured. One good, one…not so good. He knew which he was hoping for.

"Ah, yes. That."

John suddenly noticed that Rodney was twisting his fingers together anxiously, and he realised there had been a reason his quarters had remained dark when he'd entered.

"I could turn the lights off again, if you like?" he offered lightly.

"What? Oh…no, that's all right." Rodney grimaced. "It's pathetic, really. Imagine thinking it would be easier to have a serious talk in the dark."

John didn't reply to that, but he did wonder if he should mention that it sounded like a great idea to him. Anything that meant you could hide your emotions even as you put them all on display was fine by him.

He figured that made him just as pathetic.

He took a deep breath. Rodney was still fidgeting, and staring at the floor, and he didn't seem likely to begin any kind of talk in the near future. It looked like it was up to John.

"You said something about being afraid?" he prodded tentatively.

For a moment he thought Rodney wasn't going to answer at all, and that would make this conversation _really_ difficult, but then Rodney sighed, and finally looked up – although his eyes still didn't meet John's.

"Yes," he said. "I was."

"Of what? Of it not working." He didn't need to specify what 'it' was.

"No. Well, yes. Of course that. Although I knew that between us Carson, Radek and I had got everything set up right."

_Giving credit to others, Rodney? I'm shocked._ But John didn't say the words aloud. This wasn't the time for jokes.

"Actually, I was afraid that it _would_ work," Rodney revealed suddenly.

"Huh?" Not the most eloquent of responses, but John was genuinely confused now. "I don't think I…"

"No, sorry, sorry." Rodney waved a hand at him. "Let me explain. I was worried that it would work, and yeah, okay, you'd remember everything, but you'd also decide that you preferred it when you _didn't_. That you'd realise life was better that way," he finished in a quiet voice.

"_What?_ How could you think that…?"

"Oh, come on, Sheppard." _Now_ Rodney looked at him, and his tone was somewhere between scathing and desolate. "You can't pretend that this is easy. You have to hide what you are all the time, and if anyone found out about us, you'd be shipped back to Earth faster than you can say 'dishonourable discharge'."

"Rodney, people _do_ know about us now, remember?" John pointed out. "Elizabeth, Teyla, Ronon, Beckett. Even Lorne. And last time I looked I wasn't being shipped anywhere. Elizabeth told me so herself this morning."

"Really? She did?" Rodney looked momentarily hopeful, but then his mouth turned down again, and he shook his head slightly. "But what if someone like Caldwell found out? I bet he wouldn't be so willing to turn a blind eye."

"Well, we'll just have to make sure that he doesn't, won't we? We've managed so far. Even Elizabeth and Teyla and the others wouldn't have found out if you hadn't told them."

"I _had_ to tell them…" Rodney began, and John held up a hand to cut him off.

"Whoa, whoa, I know you did, buddy. I'm not blaming you for that."

"You're not? Oh, okay." Rodney appeared to be processing that for a moment, and then the tiniest of smiles crossed his face. "Actually, I'm pretty sure Teyla and Ronon knew already. They didn't look very surprised."

John theatrically clapped a hand to his forehead. "Why doesn't that surprise me? Those two are too observant for their own good sometimes."

"I think they're happy for us, too," Rodney added.

"That's good," John replied. "I'd hate to have to go and kick their asses if they weren't."

Rodney snorted at that, and John grinned. They both knew that he didn't have a hope in hell of kicking either Teyla _or_ Ronon's ass.

"Look, I don't care about the hiding and sneaking around, you know I don't," John said, when he'd finished imagining himself begging Ronon for mercy. "I never have. And I remember _everything_ now, so you don't have to worry about that any more either." He paused for a second, and then continued honestly, "I can't imagine what these last few weeks must have been like for you."

"Not all that fun, actually," Rodney replied. "It's not particularly enjoyable having your…your…oh, for crying out loud, your _boyfriend_ act like you're the scum of the earth."

"Rodney, I'm _sorry_," John said, clenching his fists again as he saw the miserable look on Rodney's face. "You know I don't feel like that really." Suddenly he wished he _had_ gone to talk to Davos and Seldan again before they'd left. Not that _talking_ would have really featured that high on his agenda.

"Are you sure about that?" Rodney muttered, and then froze in alarm, as if he wished he could take the words back.

"Oh," said John slowly. A light bulb had gone on in his head. "So _that's_ what this is about. You're worried I might not want this any more because I still think it's, what? _Disgusting_ or something."

A stubborn look appeared on Rodney's face. "Well? I think it's a perfectly legitimate concern," he retorted. "Just because you remember what we had before, doesn't mean you might not have decided it's not for you any more."

"Oh, Rodney." John moved towards him, and tried not to show his dismay at how Rodney tensed up, subconsciously shielding himself from further hurt. "You fixed it, okay? You and Beckett and Zelenka, you worked it out. _All_ of it. I'm me again. _Completely_ me."

"You say that _now_," Rodney insisted. "But something might trigger it in the future. Something might make you realise that being with a man revolts you."

John went very still. "Are you trying to tell me something, Rodney?" he asked in a flat voice. "Is this your way of pushing me away so you don't have to admit that actually you've changed _your_ mind? That you've decided I'm not worth the effort or something?"

"What?" Rodney's eyes snapped to John's face suddenly. "No, of course not! How could you even think that? It's just, well…"

"You were afraid," John finished for him, suddenly feeling guilty about his suspicions. "I know." He tilted his head a little. "What can I do to convince you?"

"I'm not sure," said Rodney softly. "I'm being stupid, I know."

"No, you're not," John replied. "But I promise you, nothing like that is going to happen."

"Words," said Rodney, trying to sound dismissive. But John could tell he was crumbling.

"Fine. Let me show you instead, then."

Raising his hands, John curled them around Rodney's upper arms so he could pull Rodney towards him a little as he simultaneously leaned in. He moved slowly, giving Rodney plenty of time to call things off if he wanted to. But in the moment's hesitation before they actually kissed, when they were almost nose-to-nose, John could see the unfettered longing in Rodney's wide blue eyes, and that gave him the courage to close the final distance.

The kiss was slow and sweet – not demanding, not pushing in any way, and John wondered how on earth he could ever have thought that he didn't want this. He knew he hadn't had much choice in the matter, but it was hitting him afresh just what Rodney must have been dealing with recently, and he wondered if one kiss was going to be enough.

"Okay, now I feel bad," Rodney murmured when they drew apart.

"What? Why?"

"Well, I think I'm supposed to be the one reassuring _you_, not the other way around. After all, you're the one who's being going through all the shit lately."

"I think we've already established that it hasn't been particularly enjoyable for either of us," John said.

Rodney snorted bitterly. "Understatement of the century, right there."

"You may have a point," John acknowledged. "Look, Rodney, we can take this as slow as you like. I know what I want, but if you…"

"Oh, shut up, will you?" Rodney interrupted him. "I already feel stupid enough about acting like an angsty teenage _girl_, and you rubbing it in isn't helping."

John laughed. "I wondered why I found Justin Timberlake in amongst your music files that time," he teased.

"Oh, I'm splitting my sides," Rodney said, scowling.

But John just carried on laughing until Rodney hit upon the frankly _genius_ idea of shutting him up by kissing him again.

This kiss had more heat than the first, the product of what was obviously some pretty significant bottled-up frustration on Rodney's side, and a strong desire to prove something on John's.

John felt Rodney's arms go around his waist, and then his hands pushing up under the hem of John's shirt. He groaned slightly into the kiss, verbally encouraging the skin-on-skin feeling he was suddenly craving.

So when Rodney's hands skittered to a halt halfway up John's back, and his lips froze beneath John's, John was confused, to say the least.

"Oh."

"Rodney?"

Then he felt blunt fingers moving again, tentative as they skimmed across the criss-cross of scar tissue that now adorned John's back, mapping the pattern by touch alone.

"Does it hurt?" Rodney asked softly, and John shook his head.

"No." It was the truth. The injuries were pretty much healed by now, although John knew from Beckett's final check-up that the new tissue was still somewhat fragile. And indeed, as Rodney's fingers skated across it, it felt – not tender, exactly, but maybe a little sensitive.

But in actuality, John had all but forgotten about the physical side of his condition, the mental component having seemed so much more important of late. He'd been pretty successful at pushing the memory of that day in the Nimaani city square to the back of his mind, even without the assistance of neurological manipulation. It had joined the myriad of other unpleasant memories he'd gained during his time in the Air Force and in the Pegasus Galaxy – things he didn't think about, because if he did he probably wouldn't be able to get up in the morning.

But if Rodney wanted to talk about it now, then he would. Because although he'd been the one taking the punishment, he hadn't been the only one being punished.

John held his breath as Rodney's hands slid a little higher, still touching, still mapping, Rodney's face serious as he catalogued his findings. He was suddenly reminded of that final dream he'd had, of the memory of the aftermath of the mission to the planet of the Gourish. Rodney was displaying the same kind of intense concentration now as he checked John's condition, and once again John found himself not minding being the focus of that much single-mindedness.

Still, as the moment stretched out, John felt an almost unbearable desire to lighten the mood. "When you're quite finished, McKay," he joked lightly, unable to help himself.

"Shut up," Rodney hissed at him, suddenly savage, and then he all but yanked John in for another kiss, this one furious and aggressive, and sending a message that John was pretty sure he understood.

"Oh god, oh god, what they did to you…" Rodney was murmuring brokenly against John's lips, and if he wasn't crying, then he was pretty close.

John slid his hands up until they were cupping Rodney's jaw, his thumbs stroking gently along the line of Rodney's throat as Rodney got himself under control again. "Hey, it's okay," he said. "I'm still here. I'm still in one piece. I've experienced worse, and I probably will again."

Rodney's head jerked up, his eyes flashing. "_So_ not helping!" he snapped.

John scrunched up his face apologetically. "Yeah, okay. Sorry."

"So you should be." Rodney sniffed loudly, and then grimaced. "God, this is so far past pathetic it's not even funny."

"I won't tell if you won't," John replied.

"Good, because I know a hundred places in this city where I can hide your body so no one will _ever_ find it," Rodney threatened.

"Message received and understood," John said. He would have snapped off a salute, but he couldn't quite bring himself to let go of Rodney. He could feel Rodney's pulse jumping under his thumbs, and he absentmindedly started rubbing them over Rodney's skin again, as if he could calm Rodney's heart-rate by touch alone.

"John…" Rodney whispered, and suddenly John knew what he wanted.

"Shut up," he whispered back. "Shut up and fuck me."

*~*~*~*~*

"Shut up and fuck me."

That got Rodney's attention. He drew in a sharp breath, and he could feel his fingers curling slightly where they still rested against John's back. "God, yes," he breathed. He tightened his hold on John, pulling him forward a little, but suddenly, quickly pushed him away again.

"Huh?" said John eloquently, looking as if he'd just been told he couldn't have a cookie from the cookie jar.

"Are you sure?" Rodney asked. "Because, I mean, we don't have to. You're the one who said we could take it slow and I wouldn't want to…"

"Jesus, are we back to this again?" John looked momentarily irritated, but then quickly smoothed it away as he took in Rodney's anxious look. "Yes, Rodney, I'm sure," he continued, in a more moderate tone of voice. In fact, his tone bore more than a passing resemblance to his 'calming the irrational natives who have scary weapons pointed at us' voice, and Rodney bridled a little.

"Hey, I was just trying to give you an out! If you wanted it, that is."

"What I want," John said seriously, "is for you to fuck me. It's not like I'm a blushing virgin, after all. I seem to recall that this kind of thing has featured very heavily in our relationship in the past. I also seem to recall enjoying it. A _lot_."

"And you're not the only one. Obviously," Rodney replied. John's thumbs were stroking the soft skin behind his ears now, which was making it very difficult to think. "I just…"

"Rodney," John interrupted, still very serious. "I am not going to suddenly realise I'm heterosexual in the middle of you fucking me. I promise." He leaned forward until he was speaking directly into Rodney's ear, his voice suddenly gone low and throaty. "I want it," he whispered. "I really, _really_ want it."

Rodney gave in. Because, really, if he couldn't believe John when he was doing his damnedest to suck a hickey into the side of Rodney's throat, when could he believe him?

He groaned and tilted his head slightly. John nipped, and then soothed the hurt with his tongue, and god, Rodney was so on board with this now.

"John," he murmured.

"Yes, Rodney?" Or, at least, that was what he thought John had said. It was a bit hard to tell.

"I can't do anything while we're still both fully clothed and standing up."

John lifted his head from Rodney's skin, and Rodney absolutely did _not_ whine at the loss. "Oh, of course. How silly of me." He stepped back suddenly, and proceeded to put on the most efficient strip show Rodney had ever seen.

Rodney blinked as John looked up at him from the bed. "How did you get down there?" he asked stupidly, pretty sure that half his brain cells had spontaneously shut down at the sight of a naked John Sheppard laid out on the bed waiting for him. Luckily, he had plenty more he could use. It was an abundance he'd come to appreciate even more now than when he'd needed them all to outshine his peers back in his grant days.

"You said you wanted no clothes and horizontal," John pointed out. "Are you complaining?"

It took a couple more seconds for Rodney's brain to catch up with events, but then he was scrabbling out of his own clothes and clambering on to the bed, crawling up John's body until they were chest-to-chest and he could kiss John again, wet and deep and greedy.

"Hi," said John, when they finally came up for air. There was laughter in his eyes.

"Hi yourself," Rodney panted, burying his head briefly into the crook of John's neck. Then he looked up again suddenly. "God, is this okay?" he asked. "Your back – it doesn't hurt, does it?"

"No, Rodney," replied John patiently "It's fine."

"Good, good. Just tell me if…"

"I said it's _fine_," John interrupted, but he sounded more amused than annoyed, and Rodney smiled sheepishly in acknowledgement of his fussing.

There were a couple of moments of quiet, and then John remarked, quite conversationally, "I missed you, you know."

"No, you didn't," Rodney corrected, but it was without rancour.

"Yes, I did," John insisted. "I may not have realised it to start with, but once I started dreaming – _remembering_ – it was like part of me couldn't understand why you weren't there." He grimaced. "Of course, another part of me was doing everything it could to keep its distance from you. You have _no_ idea how confusing it was."

Rodney looked at him for a moment. "And you're not confused now?" he asked eventually, knowing it was like prodding at a healing wound, but unable to help himself.

"No," John said. He slid a hand down Rodney's back and squeezed his ass. "Really, really not."

Rodney groaned and dropped his head again. "You'd better stop doing things like that if you want to get anywhere close to, well, _anything_," he muttered. "Six weeks of abstinence is _not_ going to do wonders for my self-control."

"Six weeks?" John murmured. "Is that all it was?"

"Longest six weeks of my _life_," Rodney said fervently.

"Well, I guess we'd better start making up for lost time, then," John replied, and began mouthing kisses along Rodney's shoulder, the only part of Rodney he could easily reach.

"Oh no you don't," Rodney said quickly, rolling away as much as he was able without falling off the bed. "None of that. You didn't know what you were missing these last few weeks, no matter how much you might claim otherwise. _I_, however, did. So _you_ do not get a say in any of this. I'm calling the shots here."

"Okay, Rodney." John crossed his arms behind his head and smirked at him. "Whatever you want."

"Damn right," Rodney huffed. "And you can wipe that grin off your face too."

But John was too slow about that, so Rodney did it for him, kissing him until they were both breathless again, and then moving downwards, licking his way along John's jaw-line, down his throat, and further, determined to get at everything he'd been denied for six long weeks, and which secretly he'd begun to think he'd never have again.

It wasn't until John whimpered, "Rodney," somewhere above him, his voice cracked and desperate sounding, that Rodney realised that perhaps he was being a bit _too_ thorough. He took in John's hands fisted in the sheets, his wild-eyed stare, and his heaving chest as he dragged in what were probably trying (and obviously failing) to be steadying breaths, and felt his mouth drop open a little bit at the sight.

"Oh…sorry."

"Don't be sorry," John ground out. "Just fucking _hurry up_."

"Yes, right, okay," Rodney gabbled, suddenly just as desperate. He reached out and yanked the drawer of the bedside cabinet open, fumbling around in it noisily. But it wasn't until he actually had the small tube grasped in his hand that it occurred to him. "This was in there the whole time? Isn't that, like, evidence or something?"

"Never looked in there," John replied, looking simultaneously annoyed at the delay, and grateful that he had something to distract him for a few moments. "Probably subconscious. My mind didn't want to know."

"That would make sense," Rodney mused. "As you say, it was probably a self preservation technique. Although I can't imagine that you would have been able to put off opening the drawer forever…"

"Rodney! Now is _not_ the time!"

Rodney flailed a little as John abruptly grabbed the wrist of the hand that was clutching the lube and unceremoniously dragged him in for a kiss. At the same time he arched his body up a little, and Rodney was suddenly very aware of John's cock, hard against him, and…oh yes, his cock too, just as hard and sliding against John's in a way that made him shift his hips restlessly.

"Stop that," said John sharply. "Dammit, Rodney…" But the reprimand ended on a groan as their cocks slid together again, and really, Rodney could have quite happily done this until they both came, sticky and wet and _fantastic_.

But then John whined his name again, pleading this time, and Rodney suddenly remembered the lube in his hand, and oh yes, that was an even _better_ idea.

He struggled upright, using the mattress _and_ John as leverage, and sat back on his heels between John's legs. John instantly spread his thighs further, a mute invitation that Rodney really, _really_ wanted to accept. Because how long had it been since he'd had this? Six weeks that had felt like six fucking _years_, and oh my god, he was so taking it back _right now_.

John keened a little in the back of his throat as Rodney slid a slick finger into him, head moving restlessly from side to side. "Yeah, come on, Rodney, do me."

Rodney stilled. "I _beg_ your pardon?" he asked incredulously.

John glared at him for stopping. "What?"

"'Do me'? Did we slip into a bad porno while I wasn't paying attention?"

And now John was totally _blushing_. "Sorry," he muttered. "I just wanted to make sure you, you know…got it. That I want this."

"Ah. Well, yes, that certainly helped, thank you very much," Rodney said dryly. Or at least, as dryly as he could manage with one finger in John's ass and John spread out in front of him like some obscenely delicious buffet.

Then before John could answer he twisted a little, and John whimpered again. "_Jesus_, Rodney…"

And Rodney suddenly decided that it would be a very good idea if he got on with things, because John like this? Pretty much enough to make a man who had been suffering through an enforced abstinence for six weeks come without actually _doing_ anything.

The next few minutes were a bit of a rushed blur, and then suddenly he was sliding into John, John's legs clamping around his hips, and god, Rodney really did think he would have gone crazy if he'd never got to have _this_ again.

"_Yes…_" John hissed, and Rodney bent himself forward (and who cared if it would be murder on his back tomorrow?) until he was bracing himself on hands placed on either side of John's shoulders, and John was straining up to kiss him as Rodney rocked his hips forward again and again and again.

"Fuck…John…missed you…"

"Missed…you…too…"

"Liar," Rodney gasped, but then softened it by taking pity and bending down a little further to capture John's lips with his own.

He didn't have a hand to spare, but that was okay, because John had reached between them, stroking his cock in time to Rodney's thrusts, and Rodney couldn't decide whether to watch that, or John's face as he whispered, "Rodney," broken and wrecked, and came hard, striping Rodney's stomach and his own.

"Christ, John…" A few more thrusts and Rodney was done, gasping harshly as he came too, fighting not to let his arms buckle and failing in the end, collapsing on top of John in a spent, panting, shuddering heap.

*~*~*~*~*

Rodney was heavy, but he didn't care. Rodney's hair was tickling his nose, but he didn't care. Rodney seemed like he was never going to move again, but John _really_ didn't care.

And yes, despite his assurances to Rodney, his back did hurt a little, the newly-formed skin sore and uncomfortable where it had pressed and rubbed against the sheets. Not that he would _ever_ admit that to Rodney. Or Beckett, or _anyone_.

"I think we've been missing out on something these past few weeks," he said lightly, mouth moving against Rodney's scalp.

"Mmmm…" Rodney stirred, and John found himself suddenly afraid that he was going to move properly, that he was going to get up and leave. He smiled wryly to himself – it seemed Rodney wasn't the only one capable of acting like an angsty teenage girl.

But then Rodney settled again, and John sneaked an arm around his shoulders in an effort to hold him in place.

"Actually, I'm thinking we need to institute a new policy when we go off-world," he continued. "Like a screening process or something."

Rodney's answer was a little more coherent, and a lot more annoyed, this time, although John was relieved to note that the annoyance wasn't directed at _him_. "What, so we can identify those peoples likely to drag off team members with 'alternative lifestyles' and beat them to a bloody pulp?"

John flinched. He couldn't help it, and he tried to suppress it as much as possible, but Rodney obviously noticed. His head came up suddenly, almost smacking against John's chin in the process, and revealing a slightly panicked gaze and a mouth turned down in an apologetic grimace.

"Sorry, sorry, wasn't thinking. I'll just shut up, ignore me, I…"

"It's fine, Rodney," John assured him. He quirked a smile. "You might have killed the afterglow a bit, though."

Rodney made an unsatisfied noise and dropped his head back on to John's shoulder again. John felt lips brushing against the hollow of his throat, and attempted not to let them distract him.

"I really think it would be useful, though," he said. "Check out a few things about our off-world contacts before we go anywhere with them. It might prevent a few of those 'running for our lives' situations we always seem to find ourselves in. I bet it would just save on time wastage, if nothing else."

"Next you'll be wanting to draw up a questionnaire," Rodney mumbled. "'Killing friendly off-world visitors is wrong – do you a) Agree, b) Disagree, c) Remain neutral?'."

"'Would you be willing to give friendly off-world visitors any spare ZPMs you have lying about? a) Yes, b) No, c) Don't know, d) Only if they perform a ridiculous sacred ritual that may or may not involve sexual acts'," John said.

"'On a scale of one to ten, how likely are you to believe that anyone arriving through the Stargate are the Ancients returned to life, and therefore should be worshipped and fawned over? One being 'Not likely at all' and ten being 'Let us conduct you to the temple we have already built in your honour'," Rodney contributed acidly.

"I quite like the sound of that scenario, actually," John mused.

"Yeah, until they imprison you in said temple so that you will bless and hallow their world forevermore."

"Okay, maybe not…" John thought for a moment. "Elizabeth's not going to go for this, is she?" he said eventually.

"Nope," Rodney confirmed.

"Shame. It really _would_ be useful if we could find out some of these things _before_ we get thrown in jail cells, or shot at, or forced to participate in ritual human sacrifices."

"We'll just have to be more vigilant, I suppose," Rodney said. "Keep our eyes open, that sort of thing."

"I always keep my eyes open," John protested.

"And yet you never see things coming."

"Like what?"

"Me, for a start," Rodney said.

John gaped for a moment, but then had to admit it. "And you'd think I would have. I mean, people always see you coming. You're kind of hard to miss."

"Hey!" Teeth nipped sharply at the soft skin of John's throat, but then Rodney asked, quietly, "Would you change it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, do you wish you _had_ seen me coming? So you could, you know, get out of the way in time?"

"What? No, of course not!"

"It would have saved you a lot of trouble," Rodney insisted.

"We've already discussed this," said John firmly. "You're worth the trouble."

John couldn't see Rodney's face, but the pleased, and somewhat embarrassed, noise he made confirmed that he was probably blushing. John was feeling a bit pink himself – declarations like that weren't something _either_ of them made very often. Or at all.

There were a few moments of silence, and then Rodney moved again, more purposefully this time. "I should probably go," he said, obviously unwilling despite his words.

John tightened his hold a little. "Stay," he said. "Just for a bit longer. It's still safe." He smiled. "We've got six weeks to catch up on, after all."

Rodney didn't argue with that.

*~*~*~*~*

Teyla stood in line at the food table, and let her eyes wander the room. The mess hall was fairly busy this lunchtime, and she spotted in turn Dr. Zelenka surrounded by piles of paper and equipment, his hair becoming ever wilder as he tugged at it, Drs. Brown and Parrish having an animated discussion about, from what Teyla could overhear, the plant samples that had been brought back through the Stargate the previous day, and lastly, Colonel Sheppard and Rodney sitting by the window.

Her team-mates also appeared to be involved in an enthusiastic discussion, although she was too far away to make out what they were saying. Rodney seemed to be doing most of the talking – as was often the case, Teyla reflected to herself with a small smile – his hands waving around eloquently as he made his points. As she watched, Colonel Sheppard deftly moved Rodney's glass of water out of imminent danger of being spilled, and smiled a quick but fond smile as Rodney completely failed to notice. Then, as John's glass found itself in equal danger, he caught hold of one of Rodney's waving hands, stilling it for long enough to point out the situation, and then pointedly lowering it to the table. And if he kept hold of it for a second or two longer than was strictly necessary, prompting a momentary bashful hesitation from Rodney, then Teyla was sure she was the only one who noticed.

"What are they serving today?"

Ronon had appeared behind her in the line, and Teyla smiled at him. "The same as usual, I believe," she said.

"Great."

Together they gradually moved to the front of the line, collecting their lunches from the various items on offer – Ronon's choices comprising mainly meat-based products, Teyla's centred more around salads, fruits, and her customary pot of Athosian tea.

But when Ronon started to move towards the table where Colonel Sheppard and Rodney were sitting, Teyla stepped in front of him.

"Let's sit over there," she said, gesturing with a tilt of her head to an empty table in the centre of the mess."

"What?" Ronon asked. "Why?"

"I believe John and Rodney would like some time for…just the two of them," she replied delicately.

"Oh. Right." Ronon grinned. He glanced over at them. "Fair enough." He willingly followed Teyla to the table she had selected, and they sat down.

There were a few moments of quiet between them as Teyla poured out her tea, and Ronon started putting together a sandwich that was quite possibly more filling than bread. Taking an appreciative sniff of the steam rising from her cup, Teyla sipped at her drink.

"I don't get it," Ronon said suddenly.

Teyla smiled over the rim of her cup. "What do you not understand?"

"Those two." Ronon gestured towards the two men sitting by the window. "Why they should have to hide it."

"Ah." Teyla's smile dimmed a little. "I believe it is due to the rules of the military in Colonel Sheppard's country. It is an organisation that does not…look kindly, shall we say, on two men sharing what John and Rodney share."

"Oh, I know that," Ronon replied. "I just don't get why it's such a problem. On Sateda, no one cared who you bunked down with. We had far more important things to worry about. Like the Wraith."

"It is unfortunate for them," Teyla acknowledged. "Still, there does not appear to be anything any of us can do about it."

"It still sucks, though," Ronon said bluntly. "Especially considering what they've been through lately."

"I agree. It does, indeed, 'suck'," Teyla said, a small smile returning to her lips.

Rodney's voice rang out suddenly from across the room, indignant and disbelieving. "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me! I'm surrounded by morons! And you, Colonel, are the biggest moron of them all!"

But when Teyla looked over, John was laughing, and even Rodney was smiling, although he was still shaking his head at whatever John had said to prompt his outburst. Nothing appeared to be greatly amiss.

"They look happy, though, despite everything," she said. "Although I suspect we are the only ones who know what to look for."

"Hard to see how anyone can be happy when they have to keep a secret like that," Ronon muttered gruffly.

Across the room, Rodney had stood up and was pulling John out of his chair. "If you don't believe me, I'm going to prove it to you," Rodney was saying. "Come with me right now."

As he was dragged across the room, John caught Teyla's eye and smiled sheepishly. Teyla smiled back and raised an eyebrow in question. But John merely shrugged, directed an indulgent eye-roll at the back of Rodney's head, and allowed himself to be dragged from the mess.

Teyla turned back to Ronon. "If they are happy, what does it matter how they achieve it?" she asked. "Some secrets are best kept, I think."

Ronon raised a placating hand. "Hey, you'll get no arguments from me. Let them do whatever they need to if it makes them happy."

Teyla nodded in satisfaction and sipped her tea again, her eyes lingering in amusement on the door that John and Rodney had left by.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [That Wasn't Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/120150) by [crysothemis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crysothemis/pseuds/crysothemis)
  * [Punishment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/119144) by [Artmetica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artmetica/pseuds/Artmetica)




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